


Sands of Time (Old)

by DigitalSpectre



Category: overwatch
Genre: Other, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-01-30 14:49:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 31,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12655686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalSpectre/pseuds/DigitalSpectre
Summary: You have walked the earth for a long time.  You are very old, and very, empty. Life doesn't hold the spark it used to, and you so often let your mind wander back into the past. Of happier times. During your travels you discover that an old group of heroes, Overwatch, is reforming. Initially intending to offer your abilities, you chickened out, and instead offered to rebuild their decaying base of operations. As you work, you begin to admire one of the heroes from afar. She is strong, beautiful, and full of courage. She's like a beacon in your long night. And somehow, without you being aware, she begins to admire you too.





	1. Why are you here?

History is a strange thing.

It is viewed by many as something forgotten and rediscovered. The past is something far off and distant. History is remembered but it’s not a memory. It’s old. It’s gone.

For you, history is ever-present. It’s remembering every face you’ve ever called friend. It’s standing in the middle of a crowded city and remembering when it was just a couple of poorly built shacks. It’s recognizing a sword hanging in a museum and remembering when a friend used that very same sword to cut every piece of fruit he ate because he could. It’s staring up at a portrait of yourself and struggling to remember who that artist was and why they thought you were something worth painting.  
For you, everything is history. Time isn’t relevant anymore. If it ever was.

You’re walking the streets of Paris, remembering when the streets weren’t quite so clean, when the light wasn’t quite so clear. For a moment, you were still there. It was winter and everyone was cold. The snow was piled up to your neck and everyone looked at you suspiciously. You were a stranger after all. One who seemed to avoid the snow that dropped from the rooftops like it parted just for you. Which wasn’t exactly true. The snow didn’t part for you, you just pushed it away. You lingered there, in the time when the darkness flourished and called so loudly to those unfortunate enough to walk after dark. The darkness was still there, but now it had to be clever. Had to use pretty songs and pretty faces to get what it wanted. What you wanted.

You dance, calling attention to you. The people, the crowd, they watch you. Yearn for you. To be close. They reach and weave and tangle themselves together. You reach, and pull, and drain the silken twists of energy. A little thread from each sweat misted body. It fed you, sustained you, gave you strength and power. Your lips parted and your eyes began to search the crowd. You pick one, just one, and release the rest from your allure.

You are an ancient thing. A creature that has existed for eons. It’s not that you’re not human. You’re just also, not, not human. People have had a lot of names for your kind but only one has stuck in their world and yours. Vampire. Not the bloodsucking kind either. That is one of the greatest mysteries of the supernatural world. No one understands how it happened. None of you have fangs. None of you drink blood. Very few of you have a neck biting kink so it’s just, so strange. You, you are one of the ones with the neck biting kink but that’s none of anyone’s business. And it’s your neck that you like being bit. So the whole thing isn’t at all your fault.

… It’s, a little your fault. Don’t have affairs with strange Hungarian noblewomen.

Your new friend has a decent house, lives alone with more rooms than he needs. His will is weak and he buckles to your commands with an ease that almost makes you feel queasy. It should never feel so easy. There should always be something to push against. Some will to put down. You were finding it easier and easier. So you put him to sleep and stroll around his things. You stop when you find a tablet at the bottom of his sock drawer. It’s blinking. You carry it to him and order him to turn it on. The logo was familiar. Overwatch, you think.

You had never been particularly interested in Overwatch. Or in anything, actually. Not for a long time. You mostly wandered from city to city, party to party, drawing in energy and then picking someone to hang out with for a bit. You weren’t even sure why you did that. Were you lonely? It wasn’t clear. What was loneliness? What was company?

But this...talking gorilla, which you were not sure if it was normal or not, wanted to revive Overwatch. Or, something. You stopped listening here and there. The talking gorilla thing was distracting. Were there talking gorillas? Did you miss something? Were you in a haze somewhere in the desert again? You tended to do that. That’s how you ended up living in Egypt for a few centuries. You kept trying to leave, forgetting what you were doing in the desert, and somehow wandering back. You would stop, try to figure out how you were in Egypt, Again, and then you would repeat the process. It was reasonable to assume that talking gorillas happened sometime mid-desert. Maybe?

The gorilla wanted help. Wanted the people who used to be in Overwatch to come back. You glanced at the man dreamily looking at you. You took his face in your hands and looked back into his eyes, willing your mind through his. This man hadn’t cared anymore about Overwatch than you had. He had some friends in it, yes, but he didn’t care about helping anyone. It had been an opportunity to network to him.

“You will answer me truthfully. Would you go to help?” You asked, holding out the tablet.

The man shook his head. “It’s not my problem. I’m not a soldier anymore.”

You replay the message. This time paying attention. You’re not sure why. You just have to. You can help. You have powers. You’re strong. You can drain energy from their enemies. Perhaps, you should go. If they needed help… Maybe this is an opportunity to feel like you’re part of something again. Maybe this is an opportunity to feel anything again. The world might be a little less empty if you’re trying to save it.

“Where do I find this… person?” You asked.

“I think he was in Spain… Gibraltar?” He mused. He looked dizzy.

“I am taking this. You will forget you had it. You will forget you met me. You got drunk at the bar and got home safely.” You hold the man still, letting him go as you get up and walk up out of the house.

You get a plane ticket. You’ve got money enough. Truly old money. Because you’re truly old. It used to make you laugh. But nothing really makes you laugh anymore. It’s been far too long. Sometimes you think, maybe you’ll find something to laugh about again. Something will spring a spark to your eye again. But you’ve found nothing. Oh well. Keep searching. Maybe it’ll just pop up.

And maybe it’ll snow in the desert.

You haven’t spent a lot of time in modern Spain. It’s easier to look around and see the past. Glass and steel melt into stone and clay. Thatch roofs. The sound of horses and mules drawing carriages through the muck and mud. You lose focus on your way to Gibraltar itself, distracted by a lively club and a particularly good smelling bakery. You ate three loaves of their bread and left a bewildered and partially smitten baker in your wake. You’re in Spain for three months before you finally make it to the location on the tablet.

You can sense a few lives, deep within the mountain, far from the entrance you were lingering at. You wonder if they’re watching you. You pull out the tablet, waving it in front of you. There are cameras, you’re sure. You have no other way of speaking to them, so you wave the tablet and then you sit.

You’re wondering why you’re there.

You can’t just up and tell people vampires are real. You wouldn’t even have the time to explain what you really were and how you didn’t actually drink blood. They would immediately assume that you were a liar or a spy and then either kick you out or try to kill you. You couldn’t use your powers for them because eventually, you would need to regain that energy and drawing from power outlets was, odd. Less effective. So finite.

So you couldn’t tell them you were there to fight. And if you weren’t there to fight, then what were you there to do? Cook? Clean? That would make sense. People always needed food. Heroes couldn’t possibly have time for laundry. But you did. That was it. That was your offer. It was a shitty, disappointing offer. But they didn’t have to pay you. So.

The doors opened. You wondered how much of their remote functions still worked. The entrance tunnel was barely maintained. The floor was cracked, several lights were out, there was rust everywhere. The further you went in, the more decay was apparent. You were going to be, very busy. If they accepted you. You came to a large hub room, populated by a brightly dressed young woman. She smiled at you, waving for you to follow.

“This way!”

The woman leads you through tunnels leading up until you came out a door to the open air. You would have marveled at the view a few thousand years ago. Now it was just. The ocean. It was everywhere. Only the deepest parts of it were an unknown to you and contrary to common belief, you needed to breathe. Not that you really cared what was down there. It was just something you didn’t know. And that’s all it was.

You ended your journey in what looked like a workshop, staring at the talking gorilla. Which by now, you’re pretty sure is abnormal. Maybe. You don’t feel much surprise as you listen to him talk. You hand him the tablet and shuffle.

“It was my ex’s, he left it when he moved out. I saw your message and… I’m not a fighter or, anything but. I was thinking you could use someone to cook and clean but now it looks like you need repairs done. I could start by fixing… what… needs fixing. And then I could. Cook. You don’t have to pay me or anything.” You stumble and stop as you speak. It’s been too long since you’ve actually talked to someone without mesmerizing them. You shudder and pull your abilities into yourself. Your awareness of the gorilla, Winston, and the woman, Tracer, disappear into vague blips. It’s strange. To be inside your head, alone.

“Well… You are right. We do need help with repairs, and we’re stretched thin. Let’s start with a week, and see how it goes from there. Alright?” Winston holds out his hand to you and you look at it, confused for a moment. Oh yeah. People shook hands sometimes. You placed your hand in his and wiggled. Yes, that seemed right. You were doing it. Go you.

“Do you live close by?” Winston asked.

You hadn’t lived anywhere for longer than a few weeks in the past 500 years. You could just apartment hop but someone would notice. It was time. To Rent. You slowly blink, and then realize that he and Tracer are looking at you, concerned.  
“No, but I’ll get an apartment...Sorry, I was trying to remember Spain’s rental market. I’ve lived here before.” Not quite this century, but you had lived here before. What was it like? The ham was good.

“You can stay here till you find one. Our quarters are just, not very private.” Winston offered. He seemed nice. You could get a hotel. Maybe if renting takes too long. You should just go with the first listing you find that’s a close walk. You don’t have magical speed. You could hurtle your body through the air with your mind but that’s noticeable. You probably shouldn’t. That would get questions. Unless you made it look like someone else threw you. Then it. Would only work once. Maybe if you were late and remembered how time worked.

“Thank you, are there bunkrooms or something that need to be fixed?” You started, then shook your head. “Medical space first. Then. Kitchens. Then dorms.”

Tracer smiled gently. “Sounds great! C’mon, I’ll show you around.”

Now she had unnatural speed. Probably science. Science moved so fast. Cities were changing every time you blinked. The more people found out the further they pushed. It was. It was something. Something to look at. Sometimes. You stopped following her to stare at some exposed wiring. That would need to be handled quickly. Before someone got hurt. You could absorb some of it though. Number one perk of being a vampire: can’t really be electrocuted. It’s the equivalent of poking your mouth with a chicken strip. But she’s calling you and you should pay attention to the teleporting woman.

Tracer leads you to a small room filled with beds, shuffling through them until she finds one unclaimed. You smile, thank her, and sit down with your phone, shuffling through internet articles on the best flooring for hospitals.


	2. A Moment of Attention

You find a use for your abilities. After several, truly ineffective attempts at moving the heavy beds out of the room with your physical strength you give up and carefully move them with your mind instead. It will drain you eventually, but if you limit yourself to just your telepathy you can extend yourself significantly. You could stand for a night or two out when you’ve finished moving into your apartment.

It’s small and old. The building reminds you of a place you lived once, in Italy. You think you might have lived with some painters. Or perhaps a sculptor. No, the sculptor was earlier than that. In Rome. The painters were. Not Rome. Some small village whose name you can’t remember. But if you were there, you would see it. If you squinted here, you could see it. Smell the overwhelming odor of the paints they used. It seeped into everything it touched. The wood, the glass, you. Everyone knew where you lived from your smell alone. Everyone knew you had a home.

Now you had one again. It doesn’t smell of paint. Or of anything. It’s a building. It’s old. You’ve purchased a small twin sized bed and a couch. You buy paper plates and plastic spoons. You remember, for a flicker, a small nameless village and a young farmer’s son who tried to woo you with a gift of hand carved wooden spoons. The handles were shaped like leaping deer. It was too pretty. You were too old. You made him take them back. You disappeared.

You were at the grocery store. Now. You were there, now. Not then. There weren't grocery stores then. Though that would have been convenient. It was easy to forget that you needed to eat. Technically you didn’t. Your body could be powered by the same energy that powered your abilities. That’s how the immortality worked. But that drained you faster than any of your abilities did. You would need to feed daily. Which is what ended up happening anyway. That’s how being alive worked. You sighed, not even sure what you were dropping into your cart. Being alive was a lot of work. A lot of dreary, repetitious work. 

Making it back to your apartment with the groceries was a good start to the day. A good meal is excellent for managing focus. Especially when the second half of your day is dedicated to shopping the home improvement store. You get lost, twice. Not so much lost, as you forget what you’re looking for and end up staring at the tile. Which, actually worked out when you remembered you needed a vinyl tile for the medbay. At least, the internet said that’s what you needed. And you didn’t know enough about either the internet or tile to question it. Although you did remember a place that made fire baked tile in Greece. There was a donkey in the back that you weren’t supposed to give apples to but the owner never stopped you. You didn’t even mesmerize him he just let you. You looped the store twice before you mesmerized one of the workers into helping you find the right kind for a medical space.

You left the space with a shiny new pushcart, pushing it ahead for looks only. You didn’t think anyone could handle that much weight. You just hope no one really watched you. It was late enough when you came out of the store, traveling under the cover of night. It was a peaceful town. A good enough place to live. Not that you had ever been picky about it. As long as there was a dark corner to curl up in. You had vague memories of a bedroom in a palace with a secret door and a sea of fine wines. But it was vague. And gone.

The more you tried to ignore it the more you thought about other times. Paved roads with cars that ran on little more than a prayer, outpaced by carriages that thought they were annoying fools. It was noisy and bumbly and muddy. But people seemed to like them a lot. They were shiny and shimmery signs of decadence. Driving was fun. Was it? Did you have fun in cars? You might have. You weren’t sure.

You discovered your new ‘garage’ was more of a storage shed. It barely fit your pushcart in and you had to shuffle some of your supplies to keep them from hitting the ceiling. It doesn’t close all the way, so you make do with a bungee cord. Hopefully, no one is interested in stealing a bunch of floor tiles tonight. Or, ever really. Hopefully no one wants to steal floor tiles in general. Once upon a time it could have been a lucrative venture. Tiles were expensive and hard to make. You saw them crafted by hand, each one taking hours, baked in carefully tended furnaces. The smell of burning wood and ash baked into each tile. Meant for the house of a wealthy merchant, or perhaps a nobleman. The wealthy loved things that look a while to make. You remember guiding a wooden cart up to a home, the workers coming out to take just a few at a time. The owner of the home glared at you suspiciously and looked at the tiles periodically to make sure that you didn’t break any on the way over.

“It’s a good horse, sir. A steady horse.” You mutter under your breath. You’re standing in your kitchen, not even sure what language you were murmuring in. You knew a few. Enough. To speak. About horses. And tiles. And other things. You glance at the package in your hands. Frozen fish. You like fish. And it’s easy enough to bake. You just set the temperature and the timer and you put it on the pan. Easy. You can do this. You’ll have to if you really mean to cook after you’re done building.

You’re going to have to learn how to cook a bit better. You brought enough to practice. Although you did somehow end up with four giant packages of sliced american cheese so. That somehow happened. It’s good for, something.

Sandwiches? Hot sandwiches? You think. That was good. Easy. Filling. Hot. People liked all of those things. You liked all of those things. And you were a people. Right. Gotta focus. Live in the present and all that. 

Except the present was eating a pan full of fish sticks and falling asleep on a mattress that you forgot to buy sheets for so. Not exactly something you wanted to live in at the moment. You dreamt of stone columns, trumpets blaring, a sea of soldiers in perfect glimmering armor. Watching them from a balcony with a pitcher of wine and fresh figs with honey. You loved honey, once. It was so sweet, so rich. The woman beside you drizzled more onto your plate, giggling at your wide smile. You woke up with the taste of honey on your lips. They had that in straws now. Convenient. It didn’t taste like anything to you, but it was still convenient. 

You’re up early enough to shove your cart down the road that leads to the base. You dedicate most of your attention to scanning the area for curious eyes. People would ask questions about a relative stranger pushing a bunch of tile up a hill. Especially in such a little town. You would really prefer not to have to erase any memories. It took a lot of power, and it felt almost peaceful having withdrawn into yourself. 

There’s no one to let you in when the doors open. You push your cart through the base, leaving it at the doors to the medbay. It was sprawling. There were multiple surgical suites, individual offices and private rooms, and one large central room. You had spent much of the previous week hauling out the trash. There were a few beds that looked in good enough condition to fix, but you would have to find some way to replace everything else. You weren’t even sure what would go in medical bays. You hummed as you worked, remembering laying down wood floors in a new house. They had just finished raising the walls. The floors were carefully pressed into place and stained. You smelled of lacquer for weeks afterward. There were wild blackberries in the yard. They were always sweet.

Sometimes you forgot to go home. You kept working through the night, or you would pass out curled next to your setting work. You got the floorings done quicker than you expected. You were more tired than you wanted to be. But the floors looked good, So that was, good? You would probably sleep through a week by accident at some point to make up for the lost sleep anyway.

You yawned as you shoved your cart towards the exit, pausing as movement caught your eye. There was a woman, dressed head to toe in armor. She held a helmet under her arm. She stood with power and authority, with a smile brighter than the sun. There was a glittering golden piece in her silken hair and a distinctive tattoo under one of her eyes that kept your attention on her perfect face. You hadn’t seen someone so unmistakably beautiful in your life. You counted every second that you were standing there, gazing at her as she chatted with Tracer. Her laugh was like music. You closed your eyes to commit it to memory as you moved to push your cart away, trying to avoid bothering them.

That night you didn’t drink of the past, of honey or blueberries. You dreamt of a mysterious woman with an eye tattoo. History seemed so quiet in comparison.


	3. Her name is Fareeha

You hoped to see the woman again. You didn’t know how likely it would be. But you wanted it dearly. Even if you were seeing her from afar. You wish you had stopped to ask her name. Or even just to hear her voice a little longer. It was so lovely. But that made you feel creepy. You already felt plenty creepy. Because of the whole. Vampire who’s spent over a thousand years hypnotizing people and draining their energy thing. That was, creepy enough? You didn’t need help getting more creepy.

You didn’t see her again while you worked on the med bay. You rarely spoke with active team. They were heroes and you were, a contractor? Right now you were a medical equipment specialist. You were pushing yourself as hard as you could mesmerizing people out of the country to pull in the right stuff. Top of the line. You think. You really don’t know much about it. But the doctors sure did. Hopefully whoever was going to use it would appreciate your hard work. Or wonder how you got it all. You didn’t know which was the better excuse. That you were unreasonably wealthy, or that you hypnotized your way to most of it. Neither would work out. Hopefully, no one asked.

You were doing your best to physically haul the aging tables out of the mess hall. Most of them were small circular tables so it wasn’t completely undoable. You may even be able to clean them up and reuse them. That would be cost saving. And less suspicious. You were stacking them in the open thoroughfare that theoretically would lead to other areas of the base. Once you fixed them all. You figured it didn’t matter, no one was in that area of the base. Usually. But you were louder than you thought and attracted attention.

“Oh! You must be our little fixer!” A loud voice made you jump, dropping the table you were pulling and nearly knocking yourself over. You had been curious enough to reach out towards Wilhelm Reinhardt’s mind when you first saw him. He was so fucking tall and so fucking strong you were certain that he couldn’t be human. He was. Which was even more terrifying. How the fuck. He was smiling down at you with such warmth you couldn’t help but smile back. You glanced behind him and felt yourself shrink. She was there. The mysterious, wonderful woman with the eye tattoo. She wasn’t in her armor and you were able to admire her well-built arms. You met her eyes and jumped a little, immediately going to pick up your table. Tracer appeared on the other side of it, grabbing it with you.

“Oh I… I, it’s alright, I have it. I’m sorry, didn’t mean to… make a fuss.” You’re not really sure how to make Tracer let go of the table, and she’s already moving with it towards your pile.

“We said we’d help! Besides, we’re not doing anything anyway.” Tracer grins. Oh. You must not have heard them. When you were busy. Staring at the mystery woman’s arms. That was so embarrassing. 

She took Tracer’s place at the next table you grabbed, giving you a confident smile. You nervously offer her a twitch of a smile in exchange and keep your eyes glued to the table as you move it out. You’re not even sure she needs your help but you aren’t sure what putting it down would do to help the situation. 

“Fareeha.” She held out her hand after you stacked the table on top of another one. You reached out and took it with a small shake. She seemed gentle with you, her fingers lingering around yours before you turned to hide your embarrassment and pulled your hand back. You could feel the warmth still on your hand. Fareeha. That was her name. How lovely.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You manage, heading for the sweet safety of the stacks of chairs.

“How long have you been here?” Fareeha speaks to you again, her voice softer than it was a moment ago. She takes the chair stack you were about to grab and winks. You smile and go for another pile.

“A few months? I just finished the med bay.” You answered.

“Angela said thank you by the way! She loves it.” Tracer zooms behind you. That’s the only way to describe it. The woman zooms. Zaps. Zips. Zings. You’re going to get her a keychain with a Z on it and she’ll probably accept it with confused politeness but you’ll know exactly what that means.

“On your own?” You can’t tell if Fareeha is impressed or concerned. Or both. Hopefully not about to ask you where you sourced the equipment. You didn’t think you could dodge your way out of that conversation with her.

“It took a long time. But I don’t mind, I … I can’t really. You know. Do anything else.” You push the last chair stack into line with the rest, surveying the empty mess hall. “Thank you. This will be easier. The floor’s still intact in here.”

You slowly walk the perimeter, checking the edges where the floor meets the wall. You’ll need to check again when the floor is clean. If there were cracks that would be weeks of delay to put a new floor in. You don’t hear anyone talking to you, barely noticing Tracer’s voice when she comes up to you and pulls on your shoulder.

“C’mon, we’re gonna go have pizza out on the cliff.” She smiles. Reinhardt and Fareeha are waiting at the door. Fareeha is outlined by the setting sun. It makes her glow. Or maybe she always glows? Probably. The sort of person who glimmers as they walk. You blink and try to clear your thoughts.

“Oh I… should probably mop the floor, see if I gotta-” You start to excuse yourself but Tracer just grabs your hand and takes you with her out of the empty mess hall.

“You can do it tomorrow! There’s no rush!” She flicks her hand in a finger gun at Fareeha, who laughs. You feel your face heat up at the sound. She has such a warm laugh. Sweet and lovely. She walks by your side towards the cliff, keeping pace but also distance. You’re grateful. Being so close to her makes you feel dizzy.

There are so many people scattered on rocks and boxes on the cliffside. Boxes of pizza are literally everywhere. You really need to finish the mess hall. At least put some picnic tables outside in the meantime. You could have rolled one here but you were busy pretending like you weren’t mesmerized by the woman who was now sitting a few boulders away from you.

Reinhardt began to tell a story of his youth. Complete with arm movements and voices. You managed half a slice of pizza before your memories wandered back in. Her name had been Alarice. She wanted so badly to be a knight. Her father had saved you from a bear before he died to sickness, so you repaid her that debt. You ‘convinced’ a knight to take her as his squire. To train her to become Sir Alaric. She had been so proud. She died on the battlefield, crushed by a mace. You found her in the middle of a sea of blood and bones. You hadn’t loved her but you saw her grow up. She had wanted something so deadly. You helped her. She died. You were responsible and you weren’t. There was blood on your hands and there wasn’t.

No one noticed you slip away. You sat in the dark mess hall, tracing a coat of arms into the dust blanketing the floor. Losing yourself to the memories once more.


	4. She calls you Dreamer

It was startling whenever someone appeared to help. Mostly it was Reinhardt and Tracer, though occasionally a man named Torbjorn wandered into your workspace to check on something. He was in there now, double checking your connections for the kitchen equipment. The last thing anyone wanted was to rebuild the base only for it to catch on fire because the gas line wasn’t properly handled. You were leaning over the counter, quietly ordering groceries.

The more you were working on the kitchen, the more the memories of food came to you. You saw dough rising while vegetables were chopped. The savory smell of a broth boiling as you added beans and hunks of sausage. The feel of the spoon in your hands. The sound of the bread crust cracking as you sliced through it. The smell of meat roasting on a spit. Corn roasted on hot rocks. A pot of beans and spices. It was dark and the air was filled with the sound of crickets and the distant hoots of an owl. When did you forget to make beans? When did you forget the feel of fresh pasta in your hands? 

“Not bad! When you're done with all this I’ll make an engineer of ya.” Torbjorn stood up, dusting off his hands. You smiled quickly. You wouldn’t mind repairing machines when you were done repairing the base. It would still be nice and quiet. Who would cook for them though? Would you have to find someone? They probably wouldn’t appreciate you mesmerizing a chef for them. That seemed, too far.

“Hey, are you listening?” Torbjorn waved his wrench at you. 

“Oh. Yes sorry. I was thinking about whether or not to ask Dr. Ziegler for everyone’s food allergies. I don’t want to make someone sick. But I’m not sure that’s okay either.” You mumble a little, but smile and shrug. “I’ll give her a list and she can cross things out. That way I don’t know specifics.”

“Don’t take up more than you can handle. The last thing we need is you running yourself to death in here.” He grumbled, equal parts warning and concern. You snorted despite yourself and quickly waved your hands in front of you.

“I won’t, I promise.” You couldn’t quite believe that it would be possible to work yourself to death. If so you would’ve died a whole lot earlier. Ever since you discovered, everything about yourself, you pushed and pushed and pushed. Just to see what would happen. How long could you go? Pretty damn long. You picked the tablet back up and smiled.

“Any requests?”

Torbjorn shrugged. “My wife taught me this great recipe for seafood chowder if you want to put some fish on that list. You would like her, she’s a master with the shy ones.”

“I’m not. Oh.” You looked up from your tablet. “Oh, I am shy. Oh no. Mr. Lindholm. When did this happen?”

He shook his head with a chuckle and gathered his tools. You wondered if you were always shy. No, not for a long time. For a moment, you were anything but shy. You were confident, charming, appealing… but how much of that was you and how much was your ability? Who were you really? Apparently quiet. Apparently shy. Good at learning things online. You slipped out the kitchen’s back door, wandering down the hall. Did you have hobbies? You remember, so distant, the sounds of music and the feel of gliding across a floor. You remember, the feel of ink on your fingers and the smell of fresh paper. You remember, being alone, so alone, surrounded by nothing but trees and nature and the sense of so much.

You walk right into Fareeha. 

You didn’t even realize she was on base. She wasn’t wearing her armor so she must have been there for at least a few hours. She starts to smile and you realize you were just standing there, staring at her. As per the usual. One day, you will not be caught staring at her. You will look, literally anywhere else. Hell, you’ll read someone else’s mind and see her that way. Wait no that’s creepy. Did you do that? Do you do that? No, why would you. She taps your shoulder and points at her face.

“I said Hello. Getting caught up in our thoughts again are we, Dreamer?” Fareeha’s voice is so lovely. So warm and kind. You’re dazzled.

“Oh… sorry I… yeah.” You wanted to look down at the ground, or anywhere, but she kept pointing at her face. Keeping your eyes on hers. Like you couldn’t get lost thinking about her eyes too. They’re so warm, and such a beautiful shade of brown. They reminded you of all those days you played in the forest as a child.

… You played in the forest… as a child? That was so long… so long ago.

“I heard you finished the mess hall. Good work. Sorry I couldn’t help you more.” Fareeha makes you feel dizzy and alert at the same time. You smile and it doesn’t flicker away like it usually does. 

“It’s okay, you’re busy saving the world. The only thing I have to do is avoid getting lost in the grocery store. I’m not good at that. Much better at renovations. You can’t get lost painting a wall.” Well. You can. But she doesn’t need you to say that. She probably already knows. You are you, after all.

“You do have a talent for it. You’re done for the day?” Her fingers twitch as she talks. Maybe she has somewhere to go. You feel a bit bad for holding her up.

“Just have to order the food to stock the kitchen. Do you, have any requests?” You hold up your shopping list.

“Oh, here let me see?” Fareeha gently took the tablet from you, tapping quietly for a moment. “I’ll make you kushari to celebrate.”

You blanked out for a moment. She wanted to cook… for you? Or just, in general? No, she said you specifically. You felt a flush falling down the back of your neck, wrapping around your face and ears. You rubbed the back of your head, pushing your fingers through your hair. “Oh, you, you don’t have to-”

Fareeha tapped the top of your head like she was pressing your off button. Which she was, you immediately stopped talking. “Shh, you’ll like it.”

Well apparently you will. You’re not sure if you’re incredibly embarrassed or incredibly pleased. Which is also confusing. You don’t remember feeling like this. You’ve had… interests. Before. Several in fact. Some of them even liked you too. Which was, currently, hard to believe. You were awkward. And uncomfortable. And you felt like you were going to start crying for literally any reason at any point in time. Maybe you were just, really sad. Was this sad. Not right now, in general. Right now you were most certainly in awe of the beautiful women chatting to you about this dish she was going to make. For you.

You may pass out.

“You’ll let me know when everything arrives?” Fareeha asks, her smile tilting into a slight smirk when she takes in your face.

“It should um, should come tomorrow afternoon.” You finally get your eyes downward to the safety of the tablet. You can still feel her eyes on your face though. Probably still smiling. You nervously add wine to the order, for all the good that would do you.

“Wonderful. I’ll see you there then.” She pauses and apparently looks at the tablet. “Good call. Get a sangiovese instead though. Maybe a zinfandel. It’ll go better.”

As Fareeha walks away you quietly decide two things. One, you would be perfectly happy dying right where you are at right this moment. Which has been true for you for at least two hundred years so there’s no real value to deciding it now. The other thing though. The other thing you decide is that you are so incredibly grateful you lived to this moment, right here.


	5. The taste of Wine

“Do we have room in our budget for some vegetable juices?” Dr. Ziegler asks as she puts a package of frozen fruit in the large freezer. You nod, arranging baskets of vegetables in the fridge.

“Are those blends okay?” You point to the bottles that you still haven’t put away. She picks one up and flips it over to read the label.

“Less sugar in the next ones.”

“Okay.” You don’t confirm that yes, the budget has room for literally whatever she could possibly want. Because that would mean confirming that you’re paying for this out of pocket. Particularly out of an account that once started with a pile of gold that you charmed out of a merchant man because he was rude to you. Or that you, technically, still had some of that very same gold in a safety deposit box in France. You just hadn’t shown up to collect your ‘inheritance’ in a while.

You should probably get on that. Maybe when you’re done with the rooms.

“Less white bread, more whole grain.” Ziegler commented as she finished the frozen fruit and moved towards the grains. She had come in while you were hauling in the last of the groceries and stood to help you organize everything. Food allergies weren’t really a problem, so most of the concerns were with healthy products. It was enlightening what concerned modern people. You could remember when healthy eating meant you didn’t have to chew on tree bark anymore. Although some ‘health foods’ now resembled tree bark. You didn’t want to eat those.

You scribbled down notes as Ziegler talked, content to spend time on the relatively simple job of organizing carrots and tomatoes. It was easier than figuring out how to handle the dorms. You hadn’t even checked them out yet. It probably wasn’t anything good, being that most of the actual field agents were still staying in Winston’s bunk room. There were so few, you toyed between the idea of doing one design for all rooms or giving them each a personalized look. But you didn’t actually, know them well enough, to personalize it. 

“Wine?” Ziegler shuffled through the crate. You knew wines. Sort of. Well, okay. You knew regions. Specific vineyards. You couldn’t recall the names of wines but you knew the family that had spent generations working on the exact same recipe. You knew the land that produced the best grapes and had seen the care taken to make those first few bottles. So good you came back again and again. Until you could scarcely taste the wine and drank it because it was something to do. Most of the wines were idle purchases, chosen at random. But one, the one Fareeha requested, one was pulled for you from a small collection and flown to you overnight. You remembered when that vineyard… was actually really awful. Back when you really loved food and wine and things tasted like, stuff. Then you went back and the descendants fixed whatever at been going wrong. You remembered thinking it was good. Hopefully.

“Cheap wine, for special occasions.” You answered. Except for the one bottle, obviously. Hopefully, she wouldn’t look too closely at the aged label. At least now there were two things older than her in this room. You stopped what you were doing and frowned at yourself. What a bad joke.

“It may go faster than you expect,” Ziegler muttered sadly. She carefully set the bottles into the tiny wine fridge you’d bought. You watched her with a frown. Maybe you shouldn’t have bought them. You’ll have to keep an eye on it and on the others on base. Get rid of it if anyone looks like they’re having, problems. Like you haven’t had problems before. That’s how you end up dating blood obsessed noblewomen. You’re super drunk and you make the mistake of telling her that you’re immortal and then next thing you know you’re sober and hundreds of girls are dead. We all make mistakes. Your mistakes are just, really something.

“All in all it’s good. Thank you for doing this.” Dr. Ziegler smiled and touched your shoulder, slipping out of the kitchen and leaving you to finish breaking down all of the cardboard. You dragged it all outside, tossing it into the large construction bin you’d bought. It was almost full, and getting rid of it was so annoying. If only you could catapult it into the sea. Or the sun. Someday you’d be that powerful. You would use your abilities exclusively to throw things into the sun. The ecosystem would be saved.

When you got back to the kitchen Fareeha was already in there, fiddling with pans. She smirked at you as you closed the door. “I thought you would tell me when everything got here.”

“Oh I, sorry. I got distracted putting it away. And then Dr. Ziegler helped.” You ran a hand through your hair. “Can I. Help?” 

You took a step towards the fridge and Fareeha chuckled, gently snagging your arm and guiding you towards an empty counter area.

“No, but you can watch.” She smiled. Fareeha worked with comfortable practice, setting pasta to boil before moving to slice some onions. “Tell me where you learned to build things.”

“The internet.” You answered quickly. Memories slowly began to trickle up and without meaning to you continued talking. “I learned to build bricks in… Tuscany? The bricklayer didn’t want to take an apprentice but I was fascinated. I loved the feel of the clay in my hands. It was wet and soft and sort of gross in an okay way. I learned how to paint in the...in the eastern United States. I built a small home and managed some yellow paint. It was a soft yellow color, inside and out. The paint smelled awful. Not as bad as wood stain. Wood stain was. Everywhere. It was in Norway with furniture that looked like dragons. Or maybe it was fish. I thought their fish looked like dragons and they thought I was silly.”

Fareeha was watching you with a curious look in her eyes. She had a soft, gentle smile on her face and you only realized how long you talked because she was straining the pasta. That was embarrassing, she asked you one little question and you just kept talking.

“Oh… Sorry I.. Got.. Lost.” You said slowly. To your surprise, Fareeha laughed.

“You’ve been a lot of places, Dreamer. It sounds wonderful. I haven’t had much opportunity to travel. Mostly I stick to my assignments, which can be plenty exciting I’ll admit.” Fareeha smiled. “I would love to hear more from you, your talking is cute.”

You squeak, making her laugh. She grins over the mixture that she’s stirring together. “That too is cute. Hand me some plates?”

You pull two plates out of the cupboard, pulling two glasses out with them. You didn’t buy any wine glasses specifically, just regular dishware. Hopefully, that was fine. You remembered drinking out of crystal goblets that were dipped in gold. Actually, you remembered drinking out of golden goblets. There was a lot of wine in the past. You handed her the plates before you scooped up some silverware, pulling out the wine bottle and holding it between two fingers. You set it down at the nearest table, pulling the cork and carefully pouring the wine into the glasses. It smelled pretty good. Maybe it would taste like more than background noise.

“Fancy,” Fareeha commented, eyeing the label as she put the plates down. “How’d you get that?”

“I’ve made wine before.” You answer idly, pulling out a chair for her before sitting down in the chair she pulled for you. “Not… not this bottle, I don’t think.”

“Well, it’s over a hundred years old so, no I don’t think you did this one.” Fareeha was chuckling and you smiled. Oh, a hundred years was nothing. You still didn’t work on this wine though. You never made wine in Spain. A little in Italy though.

“Talk to me about this winemaking.” She asked, putting a spoonful of food into her mouth. You mimic her, eyes going wide when you realize how delicious it is. More importantly, that it’s delicious in the first place. Food hasn’t tasted like more than an afterthought in, in so long. This was fantastic.

“My mouth is busy and I talk too much. Why don’t you talk about you?” You ask, immediately spooning more into your mouth. Fareeha is watching you with a warm sparkle in her eyes. She sips her wine and then nods.

“Alright. My mother, Ana, was a famous sniper in the Egyptian military. And within Overwatch. She’s, gone. My father, he lives in Canada…”


	6. Almond Pastries

Fareeha was coming around a lot more often.

Sometimes she would find you as you worked. She would reach in to help you haul out carpets or shuffle furniture out of the rooms. Most of it was definitely reusable, so having to make over a hundred beds wasn’t something in your future. Yet.

Sometimes she would get distracted by new field agents to the base; you only knew she was there because Tracer would come tell you. Which was odd. You appreciated it but for the life of you, it was so unclear why she was telling you. You wanted to just read Tracer’s mind but. You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to read anybody’s mind. That’s how you found out stuff you don’t want to know. That’s why you stopped hanging out with royalty. Found out the wrong thing about the wrong King. The memories were haunting.

You wonder if it says something about you that you were still hanging out with royalty after the Countess Incident. Oh, killing a lot of people is fine but finding out about your friend’s weird kinks that’s the issue. Although the King thing only happened because you started listening, because of the Countess Incident. Maybe it was a lot of bad nobility experiences in general.

You had decided to do all of the dorms in the same general materials. You planned for a few shelves and decorative hooks that the field agents could use for their own decorations. Maybe you would even buy a few boxes worth and leave them in a common storage area. Maybe no actual paintings. Prints would have to do. With your luck you would go off on a tangent while shopping and put a genuine Monet or something in the ‘extra decorations’ bin. Which would be both embarrassing, and impressive. 

Fareeha was waiting for you as you came in one morning, dressed in a casual tank top. She looked lovely as always. You considered telling her but really, couldn’t see much about yourself that made you remotely dateable. The only things you really had going where that you were unreasonably wealthy and that you were an immortal cryptid. Neither of those things were something you wanted to discuss, which left you with awkward and knows how to install wood floors. Although given her arms, she probably also knows how to install wood floors. Which leaves you with awkward. Unfortunately.

At the very least she was your friend. Your best friend, you think. No one else spends as much time with you or knows as much about you. The real you. The you that doesn’t hide with psychic charm and lies. Although this you tends to hide behind piles of flooring or furniture or anything else really. You’re just really bad at hiding.

“You’re off on your own again, my Dreamer.” Fareeha is chuckling. “What are you dreaming about now?”

“There’s a place in South Africa that makes the best stew I’ve ever had. It’s made with dessert wine and meat and vegetables and it’s amazing. I had it at a little place with no name and I don’t remember what city. It was a big city, and it was a warm day.” You dived into your memories, hunting for something so you didn’t have to tell her that you were just thinking about how lovely she was.

“Oh? Would you like to go get breakfast?” She offered. 

“Oh uh, sure! Let me just put these tiles in Hall A. Would you like some french toast? I remember having it… In Brazil actually. I don’t know why that’s the memory that sticks out. It was really good french toast in this patio cafe, overlooking one of the beaches. They made this sweet cinnamon tea too. You’d think the two sweet tastes would clash but I enjoyed it. It helped the french toast had cinnamon on it too.” You chat, pushing your cart midway through the first Dorm Hall. There were more, but those were low priority. There weren’t enough field agents for one hall, forget the entire complex. You could hit other areas next.

“I like your cooking, but I was thinking we’d go to town.” Farheea smiled. She was standing a little too close. She smelled, really nice. You’re not sure of what though. You’ve smelled a lot of perfumes and try as you might you could never identify what they smelled like. Whenever you tried you ended up remembering hurting your shoulder trying to take off one of those really large collars. Or trying to put one on.

“Oh, yeah okay.” You hope that you commit the excitement on her face to memory. So many people come and go. You rarely get to keep them with you. Or maybe you have and at some point you just let it all go. At some point you gave up.

The two of you idly wander through the still empty streets. Barely anyone is awake so early. It takes you a few streets to find a tiny bakery that managed to open with the sunrise. You sit at a tiny corner table, admiring the floral decor and the thick flakey almond pastry you have in front of you. You don’t know what it is. But you are going to eat the Fuck out of it. You are so, so hungry.

“What made you want to come?” Fareeha asked in between bites of her fruit tart. You tilted your head in confusion, gracefully cramming a large hunk of pastry in your mouth like the dainty butterfly that you are.

“Food?”

She laughed and shook her head. “To Gibraltar.”

“Oh… Well. To be honest. I don’t know. I just, saw the, tourism video and, came.” You polish off the rest of your first pastry and quietly order another one. “That’s sorta, the past few years actually. I just, went places. For no real reason. Doing renovations is the best reason I’ve had to do something in a long time.”

“I see.”

“And you?” You almost immediately take another bite. Wow you are, hungry. Fareeha smiled in a way that promised answers later. She finished her food at a slower pace than you, looking clearly amused at your apparent state of starvation. You ate three of the almond rolls and took another to go. You pay before Fareeha has the chance to get out her wallet, sticking your tongue out. You are Mature and Grown. 

As you walk back, she answers. “I always wanted to make a difference. I’m doing that with Helix, I’m just also doing that for the team too. My mother would be furious if she knew what I was doing. I know there are risks, but it’s worth it.”

“You’re a hero.” You say softly. You mean every word. “Would you like to join me in Hall A? I don’t need much help but, you can talk to me.”

“I would love that. But the team needs me for a mission.”

“What is it?” You ask.

Fareeha looked at you quietly for a moment, her smile fading into a serious line. She just watched you. Deciding whether or not to tell you about her mission? They did dangerous things, and anyone could feasibly let something slip that could get them in trouble. You hoped you were seen as trustworthy. You were excellent at keeping secrets. Her hand lifted towards you but stopped, pulling back and running through her hair. She seemed, stressed. She gave you a strained smile and a little nod. “It's nothing dangerous, don't worry. I just wanted to see you first.”

A small chill trickled down your skin. It had to be something serious for Fareeha to seem so bothered. You gently set your hand on her arm. “Are you going to be okay?”

Fareeha’s stress lessened as a light jumped to her eyes. She placed a hand over yours and nodded. “Absolutely. I was just worried about things that I shouldn’t be. Finish the rooms quickly for me, that way we can have some time together.” 

“I will. I promise.” You loved the warmth of her hand. Loved the feel of her skin on yours. She didn’t move it either, letting the contact linger for a few minutes, just smiling at you. The silence settled over you with such a gentle hold. There was no pressure to stay as you were. It was comfort. Fareeha made you feel such comfort.

She lifted your hand from her arm, raising it to her lips for a soft brush of her lips. “I’ll come back to you.”


	7. You ask for Advice

As far as you know, the mission went well. Fareeha had to go to work, but that was alright. You weren’t quite sure if you would be ready to see her again anyway.

The way she left you stuck in your mind.

The feel of her lips on against your skin. The warmth of her hand rising up your arm. The sound of her voice, her promise. It kept echoing against everything that you were doing. It was comforting and distracting in the same unsettling instance. You were confused. What about you made her want to come back to you in the first place? 

You knew it wasn’t your powers. You were more than old enough to control them, and you knew they were on lockdown. You hadn’t even used your psychokinesis in weeks. You were tired, hungry. You had time before you had to go handle it but it was low enough that you would notice any draw. You wish you didn’t even have to be paranoid about it. You wish you weren’t unmentionably old. You wish you didn’t see ruins as living, thriving places in your memories. You wish you were human. You were. And you weren’t. Maybe it’s not even about being human. You just wish you were mortal.

You resisted the urge to lean your head against the wet wall. You were so confused. And hungry. You hated the way anxiety clawed its way up your skin and tore its way back down. You shook your head, concentrating on painting. The work was a good enough distraction. It wasn’t perfect, but at least you were doing something.

Maybe you could just ask her. Would that be rude now? Back in the day it would prompt your lover to paint you repeatedly and then give you a chicken. It was a very fancy chicken. Lovely plumage. You named it Rebecca. Asking might be different now. You hadn’t taken the time to look up modern etiquette; you didn’t need to be polite to a sink. Not yet anyway. It was only a matter of time. Maybe you could ask the sinks for advice.

Or you could ask the giant man who’d come to help you finish up the last few rooms. Reinhardt was certainly kind to you. Perhaps he wouldn’t mind, giving you some much-needed advice. You shuffled outside the room he was working in, not too sure how you should ask. He notices you first, his face lit with a broad grin.

“Do you need something, my friend?”

“Um. Yeah I uh.” You waved your hands in front of you, less sign language and more an unconscious attempt at interpretive dance. “I um. I was wondering if I could get your advice, about um. Uh. Well. How would one, um. How would one go about asking, if. One suspected, someone might, enjoy their presence.”

“Are you asking about Fareeha?” Reinhardt asked, his lips twitching with a smile that he was not doing a good job of keeping down. “I thought you two were already a cute couple.”

“Are we?!” You flush, trying to pull the heat out of your face with your cold fingers.

“That’s probably a question for Fareeha.” Reinhardt chuckled.

“I can’t.” You sigh. “I haven’t been in a relationship for so long Mr. Reinhardt. I have no idea how anything works anymore.”

“Haha, I would not be worried, You’re young, things haven’t changed as much as you think!” Reinhardt’s laughing but behind your hands you have a deep frown. The desire to make an age joke has never been more overpowering. Keep it together you old bat. Oh shit there’s another one. They keep coming. This is it. This is how you go down. The urge to make a joke that will blow your entire cover has never been more powerful.

“I am not the best at relationships either, don’t feel too bad.” Reinhardt’s laugh trickled into a chuckle. He gave you a ‘light’ pat that almost knocked you over. 

“Thank you. I uh. I don’t know.” You want to say that you’ll try. But you aren’t sure what you’re going to try. Videos? Self Help Guides? Large amounts of fae-grade alcohol. That’s, that’s never ended badly in the past. For anyone.

“Hey, watcha guys talkin’ about!” Tracer appeared behind you. No noise. Wasn’t there supposed to be a wooshing sound or something fuck. You gave a horrified screech and nearly fell on your face trying to avoid touching the walls.

“Oh sorry! I thought you knew I was around.” Tracer smiled apologetically. “I waved at you earlier.”

“I was um, probably daydreaming.” You admit. Everyone seemed pretty aware of your habit by now. Which was nice. In a way.

“What about?”

You take too long coming up with a memory to use as cover and Reinhardt answers. “I was giving relationship advice.”

“Oh, are you and Fareeha taking things to the next level?” Tracer asked, eyebrows wriggling.

“I didn’t even know we were in the first level. Were, are? I don’t know what’s going on. Everyone got the email but me. I didn’t even use email for-” You stop yourself before you mention being around at the advent of email. “Years, while I traveled. Now I’m missing everything.”

“That’s, honestly hilarious. I’m sorry.” Tracer covered her mouth to stop herself from smiling. It didn’t work. You saw it in her eyes. Damnit.

“I’ve got an idea.” There was mischief in Tracer’s eyes as she spoke and you didn’t like that either. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, tapping a few things while you looked at her like she was a giant spider. Except giant spiders were generally chill. They also got fucked over by human mythology. Most giant spiders just really, really fucking liked knitting. They had some uncomfortably intense knitting competitions. Like, someone dies, knitting competitions. Don’t fucking steal a giant spider’s pattern without permission you will Be Ended.

“Here!” She showed you the phone. At a very risque outfit. You looked at it, looked at her, and then slowly attempted to crack your knuckles. It, didn’t work. You are not tough.

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

“But she’ll like it!” Tracer is grinning. You are going to punch her.

“No. I have enough bad memories of weird shit I don’t need more weird shit. I’m not a weird shit collector. I don’t go to weird shit trade shows hunting down the latest and greatest weird shit finds.”

“What is it?” Reinhardt asked. You immediately spun around, pointing at him. 

“Nothing! Don’t Trust Tracer.”

“Trust me Trust me!”

You snatch the phone out of her hand, closing the browser. “Bad friend. Bad.”

“Aw, we’re friends!” Tracer gives you a hug despite your imminent transformation into a persnickety porcupine. You try your angriest frown but give up. You can’t hold onto anger very well. 

“Yeah, we’re friends.” You sigh. 

“Perfect, about those clothes-”

“I didn’t get ex-communicated by Clement IV for this.” You mutter. It was for punching his cousin. Again, stop it with the nobles.

“What?”

“What? I didn’t say anything. Anyway, moving on. The rooms. Let’s paint them.”


	8. A Charm for You

It was starting to get so, so cold in the morning. The chill leaked until the noon sun had enough strength to chase it away. There were thick sheets of dew clustered on the blades of grass, mist webbing up the windows, threatening to become ice and frost. It was the loud threat of coming ice and snow that was coming to swallow up the world. You grumbled during every second of your morning walk to the base.

You hated winter.

Winter had always been a time of death and mischief. Crops withered, cows fell ill, villages came and went with the breath of disease. Snow was only beautiful if you didn’t realize there were corpses underneath. Regardless of whether you were wandering or not, you had dedicated yourself to evacuating the area when winter came calling. But for the first time in well over a thousand years, you couldn’t. Which, was just awful. 

Maybe now was a good time to plan a vacation. You couldn’t be gone all winter. But just long enough to avoid the worst of it. You’d definitely have to go somewhere warm. With a lot of people. Somewhere dense and crowded and not freezing fucking cold. 

You thought about the places you hadn’t been. Corners of the map that you hadn’t happened to wander through, lost and alone. Did anywhere even count? You suppose if you had been somewhere, but didn’t remember, then it must still count as somewhere new. And perhaps, the cities that had changed, those were also new? You didn’t think that you could avoid the memories if you tried. But you hadn’t tried, just yet.

You were installing a floating desk into one of the rooms, carefully hooking up the electronics as you went. Holo desks were, very new to you. You had considered putting traditional desks in the room, but installing one thing was easier than doing a desk and a computer. You were learning to embrace new things. Out of pure laziness. You still needed Winston to come down and handle the computer setup of each one though. You were old as fuck you were content with knowing how to use a computer. Maybe you would learn how to program one when you spaced out and ‘woke up’ a hundred years from now holding a programming book wondering how you ended up enrolled for a bachelor’s in computer science.

You, you have never, accidentally found yourself enrolled in a college because you were just too busy thinking about the past to pay attention to what your body was doing. And if you did, you definitely didn’t end up with a chiropractic degree.

But if you did, that would make your massages A+.

You crawled out from under the floating desk, pushing a chair in front of it. That was one room done. Several rooms to go. You stepped out of it, closing the door behind you. You should be able to move the field agents into the dorm rooms by the next week. And then from there… A rec room? They couldn’t keep hanging out in the mess hall. The tables were comfortable but not hang out comfortable. These people were risking their lives saving the world. They should be able to enjoy a soft couch.

You pulled another holodesk box into the next room, jumping as Tracer appeared in the room with you. You needed to get her some bells. Tie ‘em to her wrist. Set up an alarm system. Call in favors from Athena. Set up lines of fishing wire with scraps of tin on them. Somethin’. Tracer grinned, plopping down on the bed and wiggling a box at you.

“Fareeha sent this! I wonder what it is?” Tracer teased. You rolled your eyes, taking it from her with a sigh. It was small enough that it shouldn’t be anything weird. Possibly something actually from Fareeha. 

“Want me to give you some privacy?” Tracer wiggled her eyebrows. You shove her towards the edge of the bed and stick out your tongue. You need to use one of your screwdrivers to break through the tape but inside the packing box is another, smaller box. A note is folded on top. You carefully open it, sighing as Tracer leans on your shoulders to see what it says.

“My Dreamer, I saw this at the market on the way home and thought of you. I hope you like it, and I will be there soon. My fondest regards, Fareeha.”

You smiled softly, pulling out the smaller box. Inside was a thin steel chain, bearing a glass pendant in the shape of a cloud. Light glinted off flecks of silver glitter embedded within, intermingling with swirls of opalescent white. It was beautiful. You immediately put it on, the cool glass an immediate comfort.

“Awwww.” Tracer cooed. 

“I should get her something in return, shouldn’t I?” You remark, tracing a finger against the pendant. 

“Sounds like somethin’ couples do.” Tracer’s smile was back. You playfully rolled your eyes.

“What are you going to get her?”

“Well, traditionally, my people are known for being over the top. So, probably a castle.” You’re only, partially joking. You would buy her a castle if she wanted one. Tracer snorted at your side.

“What abbouut-”

“If you say clothes…”

“No, that was a joke. What about a necklace that reminds you of her? That’d be cute! She gets you a necklace, you get her a necklace. Adorable.” Tracer suggested.

You slowly nod, your mind immediately going to diamond necklaces. Because again. Over the top. One to a hundred. Vampires don’t know how to be chill when it comes to romance. It’s less of a vampiric trait and more of a ‘if you live forever you forget that it’s a ramp not an immediate rocket to the sky’ thing. At least you had the presence of mind to know that it would perhaps, be a bit too much. Maybe tone it back. Sapphires. That was. Toning it back.

That was not toning it back.

Tracer helps you install a few more of the desks, getting you through the day a little faster so you can go home and get down to shopping. You keep lifting your fingers to brush against the pendant, a smile ever present on your face.

You daydream only of Fareeha on your way home. Not memories, but true daydreams. Ideas of the future. Of truly being at her side, and having her at yours. Of living in a small, quiet home together. Where didn’t matter. Wherever she wanted. You thought of her in comfortable clothes, in fancy clothes, in no clothes at all, save for a tiny silver necklace dotted with charms of the moon and stars. You smiled at your tablet, pressing the order button. That necklace was perfect. Your night sky. 

You fell asleep dreaming of hopeful things. And awoke to heat, and the smell of smoke.


	9. Fire

All you could see in front of you was black smoke. You were calm as you stepped out of bed. You’ve been in enough fires to not panic at the sight of it. At least the ground wasn’t shaking. Thanks, San Francisco. 

The most terrifying fire you’d been in hadn’t been in some big, towering city. It had been in a barn. Granted, it was the barn of a very wealthy family, and was rather large for a barn in those days. But it was still just a barn. The fire started when a stableboy knocked over a lamp and didn’t give a warning to you in the hayloft. You were startled by the sudden screaming of the animals. Being trapped in a room with panicking, flaming cows and horses was enough to terrify anyone. For a second you’d thought you’d died and gone to hell. It looked demonic enough.

Not that city fires weren’t frightening, not that this fire wasn’t frightening. You just learned that you could survive. You shielded yourself with your psychokinesis, pressing the heat and smoke away from you. You plucked your pendant off your nightstand, and a few identification cards that you carried around. You weren’t particularly worried about it. The building collapsing would be annoying, but not dangerous. Not for you.

Screaming tore between the flames. It seemed your neighbors were still in the building, you hadn’t realized. You didn’t know them but you couldn’t leave them to die. You took a deep breath and unfurled your awareness. It felt like stretching your arms after a long day of being cramped. Amazing. Minds were swarming, struggling to get out. There were some that were still asleep. They needed help first. You pressed, waking them up, letting visions of the best exit paths pass between your mind and theirs before letting go again. You tried to soothe the most panicked, but you couldn’t use your mesmer. A flicker of alarm pulsed through you. You were too worn out to use it.

Shit

You ran out of your apartment, heading straight for the closest, panicked person. You snapped the door lock with your mind, pushing through the flames that were devouring the doorway. A woman was huddled near her window, sobbing as she ineffectively clawed at a stuck lock. You grabbed her under her arms, shielding her from the flames as you dragged her back out into the hallway. You released her with a shove, directing her towards the stairwell. You listened as she ran down and sent yourself back into another apartment, finding a man backing away from his open window. You reached him quickly, shoving him towards the window. You didn’t have the strength to mesmer him, but you could shove him out a window and cushion his fall.

The fire was out of control. The building couldn’t be saved at this point. You weren’t concerned with the building. You’d seen kingdoms crumble to ash. Buildings could be rebuilt. But lives weren’t as easily replaced.

There was still someone on the top floor.

You ran up the stairs, vaulting yourself with your mind as the fire began to eat at the stairwell. You scrambled to gain your balance, shoving through the door. You couldn’t see them through the smoke. You listened, reaching, searching. A child. Two. One barely more than an infant. You used the older child’s eyes to guide you to them. They were curled in the bathtub, sobbing as the fire crept against the bathroom walls. You shattered the window out of its frame, the glass showering down below. You snagged the kids in your arms, wrapping the three of you in your power. You glanced out the window and almost sobbed.

A familiar blue streak was dancing through the crowd. Tracer appeared at the foot of the building. You met her eyes and looked at the kids still crying into your arms.

“Can you catch them?” You shouted, not sure if she heard you over the building’s roar. Tracer nodded, running at the building and blinking up towards you, almost reaching the window. You held the infant in one arm, gently releasing the other child out the window. Tracer caught the child flawlessly and rewound the two of them to the safety of the ground. She carried him to the safety of the paramedics before signaling that she was about to blink towards you again. You leaned out the window until the tips of your toes barely scraped against the floor. The baby went directly into Tracer’s arms. And then it was safe.

You were so relieved. Still in a burning building though. That was unpleasant. Tracer couldn’t catch you like she could the kids though. You turned and glanced at the fire blazing through the apartment. You, probably couldn’t get through that easy. The only real option was to shield yourself while the building burned down or collapsed and hoped that you had the strength to hold it out while the fire raged.

“Hello.”

You screamed and nearly fell face first into the fire. Behind you, crouching in the window, was a somewhat familiar man. Dressed head to toe in metal armor, Genji gave you a little wave. 

“I’ll get you down.” He picked you up, dropping out the window. Tracer was immediately at your side, fussing over you. She wrapped her arms around you in a great hug, whispering in your ear to do your best to get to base as subtly as possible. She and Genji disappeared into the night, and you were left for a moment with a crowd of strangers and a raging hellfire behind you.

You were so hungry.

You quietly walked to the edge of the crowd, trying to back your way into the night. The firefighters had most of the attention. Their hoses desperately tried to keep the fire contained to that one apartment complex. A paramedic spotted you and started to beeline. A woman blissfully lept in his path. She was sobbing and crying and he had to stop to check on her. You almost ran into the night.

It was so wonderfully cold. You were never so happy for the coming winter. It felt soothing on your skin.

The hunger was gnawing at you. You spent what little you had left. You had maybe 3 days before you just started siphoning off whatever was closest to you. Which would, unfortunately, be your friends at this point. You couldn’t do that. You really couldn’t. 

Dr. Ziegler was waiting for you at the door. She guided you gently to the medical bay, sitting you on one of the beds that you’d put in. There was little talking as she checked your vitals. You hoped they were normal. You were so tired. So hungry. She gently checked you over for burns or bruises, murmuring that you had done well. Which was nice. 

“Are you well?” Genji asked, walking in with Tracer and Winston close behind. 

“Am I, Dr. Ziegler?” You turn to her as she glances at your vitals again.

“Your blood sugar is a little low, you’re going to have to eat before you can sleep. But other than that, you’re fine.” She smiled. Tracer cheered and hugged you. A little too fast. Ow.

“Your first rescue mission and it was your own house! Well done!” Tracer said, ruffling your hair.

“It wasn’t, quite a mission. And you caught the kids. And Genji helped me down. Thank you, Genji.” You give him a little wave. He nodded. You think you might be friends now. You aren’t sure. You’re hungry.

“Still plenty brave though! Just give us a few months, we’ll make a hero of you yet!” Tracer grinned.

“Please, I like painting.” You mutter, drawing a few laughs. 

Winston shoo’d everyone from the room and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. But since the fire burned down your home, why don’t you just stay here?”

You opened your mouth to protest but he lifted his hand to stop you.

“You’re more than a member of our group and you belong here. Don’t worry, we won’t make you go out in the field. But you should take one of the rooms.” Winston has an air of gentle leadership. You didn’t realize he considered you one of his people. You smiled softly and nodded.

“Alright. I’ll live here. It’ll help with my projects. But… Um, I’ve been meaning to ask if it’s okay if I leave for a few weeks… I could really use a vacation. Since um, everything burned down, is it alright if I take off soon? If Dr. Ziegler says it’s alright?” You ask hesitantly. Winston eyes you and nods after a few minutes.

“If Dr. Ziegler clears you, certainly.”

You’re relieved. You’re going to head somewhere warm, and comfortable, and full of people. You were so hungry. 

The time’s come to fix that.


	10. Party Time

Los Angeles was ideal. Which meant it was packed with vampires. Most of them worked in established cliques and districts. The weaker, younger vampires often paid courtesy gifts to the top vampires in the area. You didn’t necessarily have to, even in your weakened starving state. You held seniority. But you also held obscurity and a lingering disinterest in the supernatural community. So you gave a gift of a few coins older than the vampire who ran the area to the disinterested hotel bar waitress you knew was their collector. Partly as a courtesy and partly as a small hint of your presence. 

You immediately popped into the bank that held one of your ‘family’ accounts, pulling out enough cash to do as you pleased. Which, was to get some clothes. Despite the logo’s small size, you were still an ancient vampire fucking around downtown Los Angeles in an Overwatch tank top. Probably shouldn’t do that.

You pinched small wisps of energy off the crowd as you weaved through the shops. A sampling platter before you hit your real meals. Which was a really creepy way of saying ‘clubs’. You were going to clubs. You were gonna, go to the discos. Hit up the jazz spots. Get. jive with it. You were, hopefully, distracted with your misuse of literally any slang ever to center on describing a club as a buffet. It wasn’t though. It was more like shoving your head under a slushie spout and pulling the lever. That’s a less creepy way of putting it. An equally gross way of putting it and one that should have you banned from anyplace that sells slushies. But less creepy.

When you first came to Los Angeles, it had been at the dawn of the movie industry. You were surprisingly excited. The first thing you did was charm your way into the house of a newly wealthy movie producer. You didn’t want to be in the films, but you wanted to see everything about them. How they were filmed, how they were put together, how they were replicated so they could be watched everywhere. Your favorite thing was to go into the studios where they recorded the music for the movies. You spent hours lounging with a glass of champagne and enjoying the beautiful music being played over and over again until it was absolutely perfect. The lights, the glimmer. It was awe inspiring.

You do miss the fashion a tad. There’s still glamorous, wonderful clothes. But where would you wear them? You don’t particularly feel like mesmerizing your way back into some circles of fame just to wear a fancy outfit. Or at all, really. And you couldn’t just lounge at base in a silk and fur. Disappointing.

You rub your finger against the fabric of a particularly soft shirt on the rack. It was nice, but not the sort of ballroom look you were daydreaming of. You pulled it down anyway, adding it to your pile of things to try on. Your arm’s pretty full at this point, but you do need to replace a wardrobe. And probably buy luggage. You hum, adding a second piece to your pile and finally heading towards the dressing room. You didn’t need as many outfits as you picked out, you’d already bought a dozen copies of the exact same jeans and shirt for working around base, but you did need to impress. At least until you had the power to get into anything you wanted.

You still needed to get Fareeha a gift. Something simple, elegant. Gold, to go with her hair ornaments. Or blue, to go with her armor. Or blue and gold. Sapphires. Would she like sapphires? Would that be too much, too early? You missed the days when you could show up at a pretty girl’s house with a chest full of whatever rare gemstones you felt like at any time. It was never not appropriate. Then again, those days usually meant she was going to die in a year and a half from disease but. Yeah. Maybe it’s better to be confused.

“Excuse me. Do you have any good suggestions for jewelry shops?” You asked the cashier as they run up your clothes for you.

“Down that way, about half a block.” They pointed.

“Thank you.” You smiled nervously, collecting your bags and almost running out as soon as they handed you a receipt. You jammed it into one of the bags, anxiety pulsing in time with your hunger. 

You were treated to immediate looks of distrust from the salespeople. You held back a shake of your head and looked over the cabinets. There were necklaces, bracelets, rings, watches. A gorgeous full collar necklace that would look right at home on Fareeha, but perhaps a bit too much. A glimmering sapphire tennis bracelet, which was nice but not quite. A ring the size of a small plum that you’re pretty sure she could use as a weapon if she wanted to. That one you considered, briefly.

“Are you looking for something in particular?” One of the salespeople smiled a humorless smile from the other side of the counter. You could feel the exhaustion hanging off of her. Poor thing.

“Yes please, thank you. I need something gold. Blue gemstone. Dark blue. Nothing light, aquamarine won’t work. Sapphire. Perhaps blue diamond if it’s got a deep enough color. The blue is absolutely critical. I’m thinking a necklace but I would consider a bracelet.” You babble, still searching the cabinet. “Sorry for, running off. It’s, a gift.”

The saleswoman was quiet for a moment, eyes searching her inventory. She hovered near one cabinet in particular and waved you over.

“Hm. We have a few pieces, if the dark blue is important, then what about this lapis lazuli pendant?” The woman reached into the cabinet, pulling out a thin bar pendant set into a golden frame on a thin golden rope chain. You gently took the pendant into your hand, tilting it in the light. It was gorgeous. And less flashy than your intense desire to cover your, friend, head to toe in diamonds.

“This is perfect. You’re a master, how lovely.”

The woman smiled back at you, happily carrying the little pendant to the register. You handed her cash, and then a little extra, for taking the time to help you find such a perfect gift. You could already imagine Fareeha smiling at it. You could also imagine being very wrong about the two of you and experiencing horrible, life-ending embarrassment. You were talented like that. A real master of what could be. You’d call yourself an Oracle if that wouldn’t make an actual oracle very annoyed with you. Persnickety little things hated people stealing their metaphorical thunder.

You wish you could send Fareeha a photo or two. Just something friendly. You hadn’t had anyone to call before. Well. That wasn’t, entirely true. There was the entire supernatural community. But you really would rather not. Most supernaturals were, best on rare occasions. For you, anyway. You had, actually never had a phone. It was a marvel you even knew how to use them. Technically you did when you were living with a few interesting people but for the most part you no idea where to get phones. Should you get one now? Should you wait to get one in Spain? Did it matter? You should probably ask Tracer about them. No. Reinhardt. If you asked Tracer she might ask why you didn’t have one. Reinhardt was good at minding his own business. To a point. 

Oh well. You would have to tell stories instead. Most of them old memories because ‘oh I spent my entire vacation draining energy from the people of Los Angeles’ is a not something you want to tell someone you would like to see romantically. You could just say that you went to a few fancy clubs but that's. it. Got in because you smiled and charmed and there was no hypnosis involved. Which wouldn’t be a lie for this one. The bouncer barely looked at you twice before letting you in.

You didn’t waste time with the bar. You carefully weaved yourself to the center of the crowd. Energy thrummed around you. The air was thick with it. It wove through the crowd, coming from the crowd, empowering it. It wasn’t intoxicating, really. Just. Interesting. You smiled a small smile and stretched your mind. You pulled slowly, in careful, small amounts. Enough that most of the people in your radius would be ending their nights early. But not enough that it would hurt them. Humans regenerated energy at such amazing rates. 

Awareness flickered back to life in your mind. You could sense emotions again, feel that shimmering twisting sense that you could lay over someone to charm them. Convince them. Mesmerize them. Power coming back to you. The world had a different feel now. You hadn’t realized how hard you’d pulled yourself back. How determined you had been to protect Overwatch from you. You would have to keep pulling back in. Keep your powers to yourself. But for now. You breathed out, pulling more energy as you breathed in. For now, you could feel. It was awesome.

You had a bounce in your step when you left. You smiled at the next club’s bouncer. A few murmured words got you in. You didn’t bother paying this time. You were on vacation, after all. You danced through the crowd, letting your body move with the music as you stretched again. The more energy that poured into you, the happier you got. You should’ve come earlier. You felt electric. You felt wonderful. You felt so great. 

This was going to be a fantastic three weeks.


	11. You and Your Weird Vampire Shit

You couldn’t sleep. Not because of anxiety for once. You just had so much energy. There may have been some excess involved when you were siphoning energy out in the clubs. You were going to miss spreading out your senses. Feeling the lives around you. But you wouldn’t have to hold it in forever. Just long enough until Overwatch got tired of having you around. Or until someone noticed that you didn’t quite age. Hopefully, it was the first one.

You wove into another club, excitedly bouncing onto the dance floor. The music was amazing. Definitely the best that you had been too so far. The DJ was apparently world renown. And perhaps world wanted. In the criminal sense. But he looked really familiar. You must have seen him somewhere. Or heard his music before? It sounded similar to the music Reinhardt listened to while he worked out. That must be where you’ve heard it. Maybe you should get something signed for him? If it was a possibility. You had at least a dozen of random knick-knacks for everyone as it was. 

You drank in less energy than you had been. You didn’t need it technically. You weren’t going to be using your abilities again anytime soon. Lock those right back up in your mind. But you were there. So why not? You couldn’t drink. Well, you could, but it would be pointless. You didn’t want to pour old fruit in your mouth for nothing to happen. At any rate, the next best thing was stockpiling energy. Like a squirrel.

You twisted away from potential dance partners when they found you. Lead them to each other. Wondered when these faces would come back to you again. If you squinted you could see a sea of strangers from the past. You could see women wearing elegant red gowns that spilled to the floor like wine. You could see men wearing tuxedos and diamond cuffs. Someone swirling past you head to toe in fur. Another chasing after them wearing red silk and suspenders. You could hear music twist from piano and violin to saxophone and trumpets. From guitar to thrumming electronic beats. A single song that wove through time and carried you with it. You danced to it, ignoring the music playing in the club, ignoring the people around you. Letting faces slide together. A blur, kaleidoscopic. Beautiful.

When you came out of your daze you were relaxing at a table alone. You had a large basket of french fries and a plate of various sauces. It was pretty good. You ordered well when you weren’t paying attention. This is how it always was before you found that tablet. It was pretty good. You could disappear, could keep going on just like this. Return to this. But then you thought about Fareeha. You didn’t want to leave her behind. Not yet.

But you would have to eventually. She would notice the whole not aging thing. She regularly shot at people from the sky, you’re pretty sure she’s got good enough vision. Maybe you could just buy a lot of facial lotions. Get a skin care regime up. Cover your dresser in whatever random bottles you could buy on the internet. Vitamins, so many vitamins. Fuss with them whenever she wasn’t home to make them looked used. Or, you know. Actually, use them. Maybe you were overthinking this. Maybe her interest in you would wane before anything really happened. At your core you were a quiet person that enjoyed doing drywall. Not exactly prime romance material.

Now wasn’t the time to think depressing thoughts though. Now was the time to revel in the stream of energy that you were pulling in. You leaned back in your chair, munching on a french fry. Fantastic. Was that a cheese sauce? Very fantastic.

You noticed the DJ was no longer on stage. Probably taking a break, or doing a meet n’ greet or something. You weren’t really that interested. You were, however, interested in the next table over. A man at the table kept trying to put his hand on the waitress despite her dodging. He would laugh and make a crude comment every so often while she was trying to take his order. You slowly stood up, not wanting anyone else to realize there was a scene. Being watched, or worse filmed, wasn’t something you wanted.

You set your hands on the table, leaning over it and staring the man in the eyes. You smiled as he looked you over. He opened his mouth to say something but you shook your head.

“No.” The mesmer whipped through your voice. An inaudible tremble that you felt rather than heard. The man looked confused. But held. 

You wiggled your fingers against the table and nodded your head to the waitress. “You will apologize to this person.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked at her, his expression slightly slack. He was yours. Maybe you shouldn’t stop there. Maybe you should thoroughly punish him. After all, what business did he have trying to put his hands on a server? You smiled.

“You are going to close your tab. You will pay with a card and add a 300% tip. You will then reach into your wallet and leave all your cash as a tip. Do you understand?” You spoke slowly, the power wrapping around him. He nodded and waved to the waitress, asking for the bill. She looked at you with concern but you just smiled and winked. She left quickly. You looked at the others sitting at his table. They were watching you with a mixture of confusion, curiosity. Anger. You stretched your power to them too.

“After he pays you will all go home. You will forget seeing me. You will consider what has gone wrong in your lives to make you such wastes of space. You will make efforts to be better people. Do you understand?” There was a sea of nods and you stood up. At least you didn’t order them to jump into the ocean. There was that temptation. But you weren’t a siren and you had no interest in playing pretend. You looked away from the table and froze, your skin immediately burning hot.

The DJ was right there, watching the whole thing go down. And you definitely recognized him now. Lucio. You’d seen him around base, hanging out with some girl. D.Va, you think? Either way. Overwatch member. Right there. Watching you hypnotize the shit out of a group of people like it was nothing. Which, it wasn’t. But you also really, really didn’t want him to see that.

“Hey! Thought I recognized you! It’s me, Lucio. Wanna come hang out?” Lucio broke the awkward silence, waving you after him. You hesitantly followed, pulling your powers back into yourself. Feeling that sense of being alive, connected, dwindling down until it was gone. Stuffed back into your psyche. At least you still felt full of energy and not incredibly hungry anymore. You could stretch out again later. Maybe a little less. You waited until you were both out of earshot of others, and reached forward to tap Lucio’s shoulder.

“Um… I… uh.. Could you, could you not, tell anyone that I can...convince, people.” You started shyly, not looking him in the face. “I, it’s weird and. I’m not. I can’t. I just.”

You didn’t know what to say. You couldn’t give your real reason. But any other reason you thought of felt weak and creepy. You didn’t want anyone to know. Didn’t want anyone to ask. But that alone was strange, wasn’t it? This whole thing was strange. Panic started to flicker to life and you didn’t realize how awful that could be when you were full of energy.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I won’t.” Lucio stepped in front of you, motioning for you to look up at his face. He had a sympathetic smile. Soft, gentle eyes. “I won’t tell anyone. You can trust me. We’re friends!”

That took you for surprise. You didn’t realize you had friends besides Reinhardt and Tracer. You wonder if they wanted you to call them Reinhardt and Tracer? And not… their names?

“C’mon. Just a heads up, Hana is here. You know, D.Va?” He grinned, opening a door and giving an excited wave.

“Yo Hana look who I found!” Lucio announced, jumping onto the couch next to Hana. She grinned and pressed a button on her controller.

“Hey! I heard you were in L.A. Your girlfriend is worried sick though. You reaaaallly need a phone.” Hana scolded. You closed the door behind you and sat on a chair in the small green room. 

“I know. I uh, couldn’t decide on which one to get. There’s so many.” You’ve come to accept that all of Overwatch decided there was something up with you and Fareeha before you noticed anything. There must have been an email. Some sort of group chat. Smoke signals. The conversation got around. You wouldn’t be surprised if you ran into a Talon agent and they knew. There was a billboard somewhere and no one told you.

“I’ll help!” Hana grinned. “We’re getting picked up tomorrow afternoon. Plenty of time for phone shopping.”

“Thank you, um. Ms. Song.”

“... It’s Hana.”

“Sorry, Thank you Hana.”

“Better! Now, both of you grab a controller so I can destroy you.” Hana grinned and restarted the game. You picked up one of the others on the table, glancing between it and the screen.

You’d never played video games in your life. Well. Can’t be more embarrassing than a coworker watching you do weird vampire shit. 

You immediately direct your character off the cliff. Like A Champion.


	12. You probably should have gotten a phone a long time ago

“So, for someone who works for free for a secret illegal organization of heroes, you don’t seem to sweat money very much.”

It has taken over a year, the renovation of a hospital, a kitchen, a dining room, and an apartment complex, for someone to question you on your money. You had bought, under a false name, a cat scan machine. Perfectly normal. Nothing at all strange about that. Even if they assumed that you had restored an existing machine, there was still all the paint, flooring. Maybe it was just awkward. You wouldn’t ask someone how they were paying to fix your place either.

You and Hana walked out of the store, new phone in hand, set up with one of your state-side accounts. You nervously smiled. “I uh, had a good inheritance.”. 

“Must’ve been really good.” Hana smiled, one eyebrow tweaked. 

You regretted agreeing to go phone shopping with Hana. Just a bit. But you didn’t know what you were doing. The help was much appreciated. Now you could, stay in contact with everyone. Just another thing to anchor yourself to the present. 

You’d been wandering off into your memories a lot more since you were on vacation. Los Angeles and Hollywood held so many old memories. So many old faces. Places where you got martinis until 3 in the morning and only made it home because you lost your keys and had to call a taxi. Places where you danced with movie stars and got in fights with them too. Places where you played in the lights and glitter in a wonderful haze. Good memories. Old memories.

Tracer picked the three of you up. It was a few days earlier than you’d planned on coming back, but hey. You were fully refreshed. It was time to get back to work. You hadn’t even found a room large enough to renovate into a rec room for the field agents yet. Not to mention the rest of the base. You had only repaired a small portion of it. Enough to create a reasonable living space and that was about it. You weren’t too sure what the base needed. Definitely a workspace for Torbjorn, and perhaps another for Mei. Winston was sharing his lab and you doubted he was incredibly happy about it. Tolerant, but he needed space for his own work.

“There you are! It was too long, and I couldn’t call or text or-” Tracer greeted you with a hug. You laughed and wiggled your new phone. 

“Here, put your number in.” You offered it to her. She grinned and took it, tapping in numbers while you set your luggage down and settled into a seat.

“About time!” She chimed as she handed it back. “I put Pharah’s number in there too. You should call her, she’s been worried.”

Well now you felt a bit bad. You would have tried to wait for her to come in but you couldn’t wait. You flipped your phone over in your hand, glancing at the number under her name. What should you text? What should you say? Was she mad at you? It had been long enough since you’d spoken that you wouldn’t doubt her to be mad at you. Especially since your apartment just burned down. 

You nervously tapped out a message, just letting her know you finally got around to getting a phone. No response. She was, probably busy. Having a regular job and all. You hoped that she was okay. Any job that required you to have a jet suit with a rocket launcher wasn’t going to be a safe job. 

“Did ya have fun?” Tracer called out. You smiled and got up, sitting a little closer to the cockpit so she wouldn’t have to yell.

“Yeah, thank you. It was nice to relax for a bit.”

“And party!” Hana jumped in, laughing. “Rocking the clubs!”

“You went clubbing?” Tracer sounded surprised. You flushed and ran your hand through your hair.

“Don’t have to sound so surprised. Yeah, a bit. I don’t really drink but it’s fun to go anyway. “ You would drink if you could. Or if it did anything. Fae wine was, the best. But you weren’t going to find a supernatural club if you could help it. You would do anything else. You would get lost in the desert again before you went to a supernatural club. The desire, to whine. It would overpower you. Consume you. You would complain for hours. That wasn’t fun. Well it was. Just, not for everyone else in there.

“Next time we’ll go together!” Tracer announced, to noises of agreement from Hana and Lucio. You were, absolutely not into that. Although you were, perhaps, into the idea of dancing with Fareeha. Maybe you would go.

“Sounds fun.” You replied. You settled in to nap for the flight, letting the chatter in the plane become background noise. A small ding drew your attention to your phone. 

_“Finally!”_

_“I’ve been concerned.”_

_“Are you alright?”_

Fareeha was texting you. She was okay after all. Looks like her job didn’t kill her just yet. Hopefully it never would. You tried to keep your smile to yourself and texted back.

_“Yes, I’m fine. Going back, home, right now. With Lena.” You didn’t want to make any references to Overwatch on your phone record. Not if you could help it._

_“Good, I’m there now. I put your room together for you.”_

You couldn’t help your small smile. _“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”_

_“I wanted to.”_

That was cute. As you wonder what she did your mind wanders. Reinhardt had told you to just ask Fareeha if there was, feelings. You would never ask her to her face. It was hard enough having a regular conversation with her without breaking into nonsense and embarrassment. But, over the phone. Probably not the most mature way to deal with it. But you quietly take your phone and send another text. You’re old enough to loop back around to being immature.

_“Fareeha. Are we, something?”_

Yes. That is the proper way to ask. That’s enough information. You coward. You really old coward. What happened to the days when you would break out your best lace gown and sit beneath someone’s widow playing the lute and singing songs about their beauty.

An hour passed and there was no reply. Which was, fairly anxiety inducing. Best case scenario was looking to be that she did not have any particular feelings about you, everyone was wrong, and you would just have to avoid her for a bit. Worst case scenario you would have to actively catapult yourself into the sky revealing your psychic powers to avoid getting rockets rained down on your head. You doubted she’d respond so severely, but it was the worse case scenario. You fretted, your mind choosing this one time to not go into your bank of past memories in favor of running past increasingly upsetting options for Fareeha’s response. You really appreciated it. Thanks brain.

You decided to hide away in the shared bathroom space with your luggage until you figured out what room was yours, and until you were sure Fareeha was not in there. It was the way a Mature Adult who is Very Old would handle it. And is going to handle it.

Unfortunately for you, Fareeha was waiting for you in the hangar. You had bad luck. This is why you had to wait two centuries before going back to Greece.

“My Dreamer.”


	13. Subtlety doesn't work on the Unobservant Anxiety-Havers

The temptation to just launch yourself into the sea has never been greater. It sounds great. Better than your vacation. Better than literally anything. Unfortunately, you are indoors. Which was fine. If you were outside you would have to decide between the ocean and the sun and you’re not sure you could make that decision.

Fareeha moved for you, collecting your luggage from your hands before you could blink. She had such a calm smile on her face that you couldn’t be sure what she was thinking. You pulled yourself closer inward. The last thing you wanted right now was a stray wisp of power getting up to some business. You would have to work on reading people’s expressions like everyone else. Smile is good. Frown is bad. Maybe. Who knows.

You followed Fareeha, noticing her frequent glances over her shoulder. Watching you. You could just. Ask her what she’s thinking. But that’s what got you into this awkward situation. Plus your throat feels dry and your skin is prickling like it’s on fire. So that’s fun.

The room assigned to you is at the end of the hall, closest to the communal bathroom. Which is actually pretty nice. You’ll have to thank Winston if you live to see tomorrow. You could send him an email. Have Athena pass on a parting message. Fareeha walked right in and set your luggage down near the dresser. The bedding was changed out. Instead of the grey and yellow you’d used in all of the rooms, it was now a pastel, cloudy sunset print. There was a similar soft, fluffy pastel sunset colored rug on the floor. A framed picture of the sky was hung above the holodesk, a mirror above the dresser. Simple. But pretty.

As soon as the door closed behind you Fareeha swooped, pressing you against it with your foreheads touching. She slowly brought her hands to your face and held you there for a moment.

“Perhaps I’ve been too subtle.” She murmured softly.

“Subtle?” You’re confused. You’re also thrilled. She’s so warm. Her hands so gentle. She smelled great, though you couldn’t place the scent. Something soft. Sweet. It was hard to think when she was so close to you. Her fingers stroked your face and with each gentle brush you felt your anxiety slowly melting away. You were so silly.

“You are…” Fareeha mulled over her words. “Easily startled. I didn’t want to scare you away. But also, I wanted you so close. We are something, if you are okay with us being something. If you want that to.”

It was just a gentle question. So soft, so sweet, from someone so strong. You felt breathless as you raised your hands to twine your fingers with hers. Closed your eyes to listen to the sound of the two of you breathing. Committing this moment to your memory, so you could weave through it a thousand years from now, remembering the feel of Fareeha’s hands in yours as the planet crumbled to stardust and finally the ageless would age. You opened your eyes to a concerned look in hers and smiled. Your first kiss with Fareeha started as gentle and soft as everything else had been. It deepened quickly, restrained passion pulling through, pressing your lips together with swipes of tongue and gentle nipping at your bottom lip until it was swollen and you were breathless.

“I would like that.” You say in between your gasps for breath.

Fareeha smiled such a bright and excited grin that you almost forgot to keep breathing. She laughed and picked you up, squeezing you close. You giggled and kissed her forehead. Fareeha set you down and lifted your cloud pendant in her fingers.

“Oh, you’re wearing it.”

“All the time.” You flushed and then remembered your gift for her. You wiggled out of her arms and unzipped your smaller suitcase. The little box was sandwiched between the other trinkets you’d gathered for your friends. You handed it to her with a hopeful smile. Fareeha carried it to the bed, sitting down and patting the mattress for you to sit next to her. She opened it with a soft gasp.

“This is beautiful. This is too much.” Fareeha took the necklace from the box, examining the pendant in her palm.

“It took literally all of my self-restraint and the help of a very nice saleswoman to not be excessive. There was a sapphire ring the size of a persimmon that would have looked lovely on your hands. Pretty and easily weaponizable. But then the two of us thought that would be, too much. I tend to go overboard a lot. One time a lover accused me of not wanting to take pictures with them so I commissioned a painting of the two of us using photographs of us taken individually as a reference. I thought it was funny. They did not. That didn’t work out well.” You rambled. Though it felt less dreamy, and more, normal. Just talking. To your girlfriend. Who laughed so hard she couldn’t get the necklace around her neck. You smiled and took the chain from her, helping hook the clasp.

“It looks perfect on you.” You murmur softly, kissing her cheek. “Anything would look perfect on you.”

You whisper compliments into her skin, trailing your lips up her jawline. You whisper of her beauty and brush your lips against her ear. You whisper of her strength and drop featherlight kisses down her neck. Your lips carry praises of her bravery across her collarbone to the other side. As she falls back and takes you with her you kiss ballads of her kindness back up her neck, down her jaw, to her lips again. You could kiss her from head to toe and not tell enough of that story.

“My sweet Dreamer.” Fareeha murmurs, drawing her fingers across your cheek. “Were you a poet?”

You shrugged. “I was once. For a time. I stopped because I accidentally ruined a very carefully planned arranged marriage. I mean, on one hand, they weren’t forced to marry each other but on the other hand, got chased out of Germany. There was good sausage there so I stopped writing for a while. But that’s okay. I have other talents. Like, I’m am great at putting in flooring. Or, making… eggs?”

She laughs and wraps her arms around you, holding you close. “You are very good at telling stories. You should do that again.”

“But what about the flooring Fareeha? Who will do the floors?” You gasped. “All of society will dissolve if someone doesn’t do the floors.”

“Then it will be just you and I.”

Well. That sounded pretty nice. Fuck the floors.


	14. Eternally Frightened Goat

Luckily for you, Gibraltar did not have snow. You were so happy. You hated snow so much. It was wet. Which was always a problem. It was soft and fluffy, so it got fucking everywhere, and then it melted, and made you wet. Which was a problem. But it was also fucking hard and if you fell on it you’d be covered with bruises and aches and pains. Which was. A fucking. Problem. Fuck snow. Fuck the clouds that make snow. Fuck the places that are cold enough for snow to exist.

Where Gibraltar didn’t have snow, it did have rain. Which you forgot about. And walked to the hardware store to gather what you needed to finish your project. When you went to leave the store there was a horrible downpour. You sighed, turned around, and immediately bought a tarp. And an umbrella. You could keep the rain from hitting you or your things but you had to keep up appearances.

You didn’t like the rain. You just hated it less than you hated snow. Rain was forward about its intentions. It wanted to make you uncomfortable and cold and wet. Snow, snow wanted to pretend to be pretty and light until it knocked you off your feet and shattered your bones with its unreasonably rock hard piles. Fucking snow.

You carefully pulled out your phone when it bleeped, shielding it from the water.

“ _How’s the rain : ) : ) : )_ ”

You snorted. Tracer had told you not to go out. It was fine you said, just a drizzle, you didn’t want to spend all day pinned to a window.

“ _I’ve made worse mistakes._ ” You responded.

“ _Singin’ in the Raaaaaaain : )_ ”

“ _Singing is one of those mistakes._ ”

Especially when you’re wooing someone. And the household guards hear you. And the household guards are really good with a bow. And then they notice it bounce away from you and screams of witchcraft are started which is really silly because you’re literally the furthest you could be from a witch. 

“ _Aw I bet you got a great voice. We should do karaoke! The living room will be done by then._ ”

“ _Lena you are a good friend and I love you but no._ ”

There was a suspicious amount of pause before you got your next message. You were already at the entrance when a group chat popped up.

“ _We’re going to do karaoke on Friday! Everyone’s free!_ ” 

“ _Lena No._ ” You wrote.

“ _WONDERFUL! I WILL SING YOU ALL THE BALLADS OF MY HOMELAND._ ” 

“ _Reinhardt No._ ”

What would you have to do to get out of this. Besides setting the rec room on fire. Although. You could. Say that you wired something wrong. Which wouldn’t work because Lucio had helped you set up the speakers and Torbjorn had helped with the lighting. You could set something else on fire. Like yourself. You can’t do karaoke if you’re on fire.

“Do you think it’d be okay if I lit my dorm on fire to avoid any of Tracer’s bonding exercises?” You ask as you push the cart into the rec room. Lucio looks over at you from the speakers he’s working on and shakes his head. Oh well. You would have to find another way. 

“You can’t avoid the rest of the team forever.” Hana said over a box of what you assumed was video games. You settled in next to her, pulling up one of the bookshelf kits you’d brought. For once you didn’t bother trying to keep your eyes on your work. You cast a loving gaze towards Fareeha as she and Reinhardt shuffled furniture around the room. It seemed a lot less like work and more, fun, when your entire social circle was around. Well. Tracer was busy planning your music based demise somewhere. It was nice to have friends. You’d been without them for far too long. Brought back memories. You grinned and started putting the bookshelf together.

“I had a poet friend once, named...Brian.” It was not Brian. “He was a loser. But we loved him. He was our loser.”

“How bad?” Hana asked.

“He almost died from having too much sex.” 

“Um.”

“Hadn’t had anything to eat or drink for days. I mean. He was pretty happy about the whole thing. So I guess it wasn’t that bad.” You muse. Byron actually had a lot of vampire friends for someone who was apparently not a vampire. You all thought he was. And then he died. The funeral was one loud psychic conference of ‘what the fuck?’. To this day you’re still sort of sure he was. And that he either was poisoned, or a witch killed him. Not sure how as you’re not a witch. Magic is weird and you’re okay not getting near it.

You settle the shelves into the unit and screw on the glass doors. One bookshelf down. Perfect. Hana and you switched places so she could stack the games in while you put up another shelf.

“How do you meet these people?” Hana glanced at you.

“I’m charismatic and interesting.” You shrug. She snorts and you just nod. You are neither of those things, without using psychic influence. 

“Yes you are.” Fareeha kissed the top of your head, crouching next to you and grabbing some of the bookshelf parts. You smiled and resumed screwing the pieces together while she held them. Reinhardt took to helping Lucio with some of the heavier electronics.

“Interesting maybe. Not really charismatic… No it’s cool! You don’t need to be charismatic to be a good friend. You’re like, a hidden gem.” Hana explained. You tried not to laugh but ended up giggling into Fareeha’s shoulder. 

“Actually that same friend once told me that I had the personality of an eternally startled goat so-” You laughed, trying to slide a shelf into place. He didn’t understand how you had so many friends either. Especially didn’t understand your love life. How can someone who quakes at the thought of a party get into the bedroom of a Countess he would ask.

Through the window, clearly.

Tracer blinked in, eyes jumping around until she settled on you and Fareeha. She looked nervous. 

“Um… Pharah? There’s uh, something you need to know. If you want to come with me?” Tracer said softly. Fareeha’s forehead crinkled and you got up with her, gently setting your hand on her upper back. She reached until you gave her your hand. The two of you followed an increasingly agitated Tracer up towards the hangar, out on one of the small cliffside paths that lead to Winston’s office.

There was little you could imagine severe enough for Tracer to be acting the way she was. You hoped it wasn’t Fareeha’s father. She had lost enough over the years. It could also be her job, but that would also be, worrisome. Fareeha was so gentle and sweet a woman you sometimes forgot how dangerous her job could be.

As you rounded the corner into the lab you could hear Winston talking to a man. He sounded tense. Angry. You weren’t sure why. The man was wearing a mask, and a multicolored leather jacket. You had to force your attention away from them when you felt Fareeha tense beside you. Her eyes were locked on the smaller figure standing just behind the masked man. Dressed in blue, with a tattoo underneath her eye just like Fareeha’s. Actually, she looked a lot like Fareeha…

“Mom?”

Oh.

_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous version of this chapter was really bad, so I reordered some plot points and deleted it. Sorry about that!


	15. Comfort

“Where have you been.” 

You’ve never seen Fareeha mad before. Vaguely troubled at worst. But this was fury. Betrayal. Pain. An anger you didn’t need psychic abilities to feel. Her back was straight, shoulders back, coldness seeping into her face. You’re grateful those eyes aren’t directed at you.

But you’re not exactly happy yourself. You’ve known dramatics. Extreme dramatics. Some you’re willing to let go. But when you are immortal and know all too well how little time you get with the people you love. You can’t let go ‘faked death’. Especially not when it hurt Fareeha. But this wasn’t your argument to be a part of. You were just there for support. You keep your face blank, reaching out to lace your fingers with Fareeha’s. You gently stroke her hand as the silence frosts over.

“I’m sorry Fareeha. There were things I had to do.” Ana Amari doesn’t look at Fareeha. She’s looking at the floor. Then glancing over at you. You want to reach into her mind, see what she’s thinking. But not now. Not right now. You hold onto Fareeha, keep her close, hope for her. She’s gripping your hand so tightly. Taking slow breaths while staring her mother down. Slowly she shook her head. 

“I don’t know what to say to you.” Fareeha released your hand and walked away from her mother. You glanced at Ana, meeting her eyes. More pain. Regret. You follow after your love like a shadow through the rocky halls. She goes straight to your room, curling into the corner where the bed pressed against the wall. You crawl in after her, wrapping your arms around her body, using yours to shield her from the world. You held her as tears fell from her eyes. As she whispered out her pain. 

“Why didn’t she tell me. Why didn’t she come to see me. Why did she let us think she was gone?”

You said nothing. You just kissed her tears as they fell. Ran your fingers through her hair and down her back. She burrowed her face into the crook of your neck. The two of you sat like that for hours, until the warmth slowly returned to your sweet Fareeha. The pain was still there. But the tears had stopped.

“Tell me a secret, something that you don’t tell people,” Fareeha whispered into your ear.

“I am older than you.” You say softly.

“... Tell me something else.”

“I am wealthy.”

“How wealthy?”

“I could probably buy the mountain this base sits on if we needed me to.” 

“... Oh… Tell me something else.”

“I almost married a serial killer.”

Fareeha sat up at that one, staring at you with wide tear-stained eyes. “What?”

“I didn’t know she was a serial killer at the time. I just thought she was pretty.” You sat up with her, wrapping your arms around her shoulders. “I think she was my worst romantic decision.”

“How did you meet her?”

“Well, she was wealthy. I’m wealthy. We met through an artist friend of mine while she was getting a portrait done. I commented on the beauty of the scenery and she offered to host me for a bit. I didn’t realize that there was so much violence in her. I should have looked deeper. I was just thinking of lounging in a castle, drinking wine and reading poetry. Sometimes I’m selfish and decadent like that.” You admitted quietly.

“I can’t imagine you selfish.” Fareeha tucked a bit of hair behind your ear.

“Everyone can be selfish. Women died while I pranced around in silks.” 

“What happened in the end?”

“... I was ready to marry her. So I looked into...her business. And found… darkness. I reported her to someone who could bring her to justice. I was tempted to kill her myself. But I couldn’t do it.”

“Good. I’m proud of you.” She whispered. 

“Do you want more secrets Fareeha?”

“Do you have more?” She smiled at you, gently resting her head against your shoulder.

“...Many, many. I will tell you all of them if they make you feel better. Even the ones I’m scared to tell you.” You offer.

“... One more.” Fareeha asks you, pulling you back down to the bed. She shuffles until a blanket falls around the two of you. Keeping the warmth in. Secrets dance through your head. You have so many. You are so old. But you already told her that.

“I have… talents.”

“That’s not a secret, my dreamer.” Fareeha’s closing her eyes.

“No. Fareeha. I have talents. The way that. Um… Alright, I don’t know anyone else well enough to give an example.” You close your eyes and rest your head against hers. “I just… didn’t get the ovens into the kitchen with my arms.”

There was silence, and then Fareeha gave you a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“I’ll tell you more later, if you want.” You’re relieved she didn’t ask more about your abilities. Part of you wants to offer to read her mother’s mind for her. Find out exactly what Ana was doing when she was gone. Exactly why she didn’t tell Fareeha that she was alive. But that was something she needed to tell Fareeha herself. They needed to have that conversation. For Fareeha’s sake. Hearing it from you wouldn’t help. You kissed the top of Fareeha’s head.

“I really hope you aren’t a serial killer. I like you too much.” You joked. She laughed.

“No, not yet.”

“Not yet?”

Fareeha kept laughing.

“Fareeha, no, no yet.”

More laughter.

“Fareeha.”


	16. Maybe if you had stopped flirting with nobility when you were younger you would be chased by less hounds

You spend the next few days neglecting your work to stay glued to Fareeha’s side. Guarding her. You’ve never been physically imposing, but you know how to hold yourself. You’ve seen enough frail kings and laughable queens to know that even the silliest looking person can make a room fall to their knees. You only break away when she sighs at the sight of her mother disappearing from the door of the mess hall. She goes alone and you let yourself go back to your normal quiet nature.

Fareeha doesn’t tell you how the conversation went and you don’t ask. You hold her in your arms, covered in blankets, watching movies on your holodesk’s screen. It’s peaceful and quiet and you hope that it helps her. Even just a little bit.

Work calls her away. So you busy yourself with your own projects. Adding artwork and decorations to the rec room. Fussing over the lighting and the rug choices. You can’t sink into it like you normally do. There’s anxiety pin pricking your skin. You doubt Ana is looking for you but you avoid her regardless. You don’t want to talk to her without Fareeha there to introduce you. To go forward alone felt presumptuous. 

Weeks pass without incident. As far as you know. You don’t really hear much of the mission details, of what they’re doing or if it’s going okay. It’s not any of your business unless you intend on doing something about their problems. Sometimes you’re really tempted. It’s hard to avoid being overprotective. 

You’ve decided to work on a meditation space on a whim. Mostly because you passed the room while Mr. Shimada was using it and were slightly horrified by the general damage. You temporarily banish all would-be meditators to one of the spare dorm rooms while you fix it up. The floor is cracked for goodness sake. Straight through from corner to corner. There doesn’t seem to be any pipe or electrical damage because of the crack, so you fill it in before deciding on a flooring. 

It occurs to you as you work on the wood panels that you’ve never meditated in your life. Unless you count forgetting you exist and wandering around aimlessly in the snowy mountains managing to live through pure instinct and subconscious decisions as meditation. It might be? If you squint real hard and believe. You’ve never sat in a room and tried it though. Probably a bad idea. One moment you’re clearing your mind and the next moment you're elbows deep in a 4 centuries old memory of an argument you had with a best friend because of poet preferences. You already do that on your own you don’t exactly need assistance with the whole affair.

“So you are dating my daughter.” 

You spin and almost fall, clutching the floorboard in your hands. You carefully check it to make sure you didn’t damage it before looking at Ana standing in the doorway. She looks better than she did the first night. Better rested. Clothes less disheveled. You’re glad Fareeha got to speak with her before she had to go to work. You nodded, crouching back down to slide the board into place. 

“You are protective of her.”

You nod again, lining the next board up. It’s a lighter colored wood. You hope that works well for meditating? Does it matter.

“Are you worthy of her?” 

You stop your work, giving Ana a look that you’re certain whispers of the years resting behind your eyes.

“What answer do you want, Lady Amari. The business answer or the flowery one.” 

There’s intrigue in her eyes and you want to reach into her mind so badly. Want to know what she’s thinking. But you’ve kept yourself in your own business for long enough. You don’t need to break your own rules for one awkward conversation.

“Both.” Ana leans in the doorway, settling in. You get back down to work as you talk.

“I am wealthy. I spend all my time working here, volunteering. I am flawed but good. Were we in days past that would be enough.” You double check that the board is in place before moving on.

“Fareeha is a thousand glittering stars in a dark sky. A light that blooms and coats a barren landscape in flowers so sweet they put honey to shame. She is the rising sound of the melody that floats above the cacophony to make sound into music. The fire that melts the snow. The rain that ends the drought. She perfect in all her imperfections.” You finish the floor, standing and leveling your gaze.

“I do not deserve her, as the cold and lifeless moon does not deserve the brilliant glow of the sun. But the sun glows against it anyway, and no one questions its worthiness. Questions of worthiness don’t matter to a force of nature.” Dropping your gaze you carefully checked the floor, listening for squeaks. Ignoring the silence and Ana’s stare. 

“That was poetic.”

“Byron.” Not entirely his fault. It was a Thing for most vampires. Something about being old as shit made you Dramatic as Shit. Probably why you like poets so much. Drama attracts drama. Wait was that why you were friends with Reinhardt. You would bet your arm he writes.

“You like Byron?” Ana steps into the room, a little closer.

“No one likes Byron.” You snort. You did fist fight a man for him once though. That was just friendship. You would fist fight a man for any of your friends. Even the ones that keep trying to get you to do awkward team bonding things for a team that you’re technically not part of. You know that Lucio and D.Va found party games for everyone too, the traitors.

Ana reached out to you, her fingertips barely resting on your shoulder. She was holding herself away from you. Giving you some space. You appreciated that, at least. She sighed and spoke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. Or her decision to be with you. Much has changed; I have only myself to blame.”

You wanted to be mad. But you honestly weren’t. Fareeha deserved to have that sort of care and protection. It was a good thing. Besides, it would be better for her if you and Ana got along. If she didn’t want a relationship with her mother that was her decision but having her lover and her mother at odds with each other would just make that decision hard. You didn’t have to be friends. But you couldn’t fight with her either.

“It’s alright. I’ve had a pack of hunting dogs set on me before so this wasn’t that bad.” You shrug. Multiple times. It happened multiple times. You’d like to say it wasn’t the same pack of dogs but that would definitely be a lie. Ah, those wonderful roguish days. 

“I would like to hear that story.” Ana smiled. “Care for tea?”

You nodded.

“There was a Baron who wasn’t quite happy that his child was attending poetry salons. Especially not since every salon they attended, I attended. He couldn’t really say anything until he caught me climbing the balcony though. Then he just called for the dogs. And a rifleman. The rifleman was a bad shot but the dogs were really well trained.” The rifles were also bad rifles too. Luckily you no longer had to worry about climbing balconies to visit your lover. Unluckily, if your lover’s parent wanted to shoot you she was a decorated sniper with a rifle she made herself. So. Fuck.

“...That sounds, exciting.” Ana follows you out the door and down the hall.

“I was a lot more exciting when I was young.” You shrug.

“Are you no longer young?” Ana laughed. It must sound ridiculous. You’ve heard that laugh a lot. 

“Get chased by enough dogs and you stop feeling young pretty fast.” You make her laugh again with that one. You hope you didn’t give her any ideas. Better keep an eye on the adoption center.


	17. You Do Not Mope when Fareeha isn't there (Yes you do)

“Do you always mope when Fareeha is not here?” Ana watched as you walked back and forth down the paint aisle, trying to choose a paint for the meditation room. Was incense smoke something to be concerned about? You didn’t know what they did in there. Well, you did, but, you didn’t. Was green a calm enough color or was blue better. Or yellow. A soft yellow?

“I’m not moping?” You say slowly. Holding two cards against each other.

“You have smiled just once since she’s left.” Ana was probably right. But you were just distracted. By work. And awkward new friendships. And that guy who they just recruited who flings bombs everywhere and is the sole reason why you have a shit ton of drywall on your cart. You have sensed the future. And the future looks like destroyed walls. Your precious, precious walls.

“I still don’t mope. I’m just, concentrating.” You decide on a gentle white paint. Something simple. Clean walls were peaceful, weren’t they?

You had been spending a lot of time with Ana. Not intentionally, she often sought you out, but you didn’t reject her company either. Most of the time Reinhardt joined the two of you. He seemed the happiest to have one of his old friends back. You could understand his excitement. It made interactions between you and Ana so much easier too. Except right now. When she was accusing you of moping. Which you do not do. Oh you used to mope. You used to mope Professionally. On the couch of whatever pretty, available wealthy person felt like sponsoring an intensely moody poet so long as the poet assured them of how pretty they were. It was a job. An art. A lifestyle.

You mooch off a lot of rich people for someone who is also a rich people.

“Now… for lighting… wall mount, or ceiling.” You ask. She gives you the same look she’s been giving you this whole time. It’s a look that says she regrets coming with you on this shopping trip but she also wants to spend more time with you to make Fareeha happy. She just visibly wishes it didn’t involve so much time in a hardware store choosing paint. You aren’t sure what she was expecting.

“Do you intend on living with her when you’re done with your building?” Ana asked. You’re not sure if she was trying to get more details on your relationship, or if she just really wanted you to stop asking her about bulb types.

“I- What? Ana.” You carefully pile your things on the cart. “That’s, really up to her I think. I can’t just invite myself into her house. Hi sweetheart, I live here now.”

“You don’t have a fanciful nickname for her?”

“She will never know about the poetry thing so long as I live.” You would be horrified. Embarrassed. You were already embarrassed enough that her mother heard you do it. Damn all your centuries of hanging out with artists. What did you think was going to happen. Why did you do that? Why couldn’t you have just fucked off into the woods and made wood carvings? Because you did do that, and that’s how you met your first artists. The mistakes. They are interwoven.

“I think she would like it. What woman doesn’t like poetry read to her?” Ana chuckled. When she saw the horrified look on your face her eyebrows rose. Oh, what woman doesn’t like poetry read to her indeed. A woman with a spear, that’s who. Someone read her the wrong poem before you came around. You still haven’t been back to Sweden.

You do wonder when Fareeha will be in. Her comings and goings are sporadic, and it’s easier to get her for a quick field mission than it is to spend even a day at base. Perhaps you would get to see her more often if you just admitted your abilities to Winston. Which would be admitting it to everyone. The idea scares you, but honestly, what were you thinking earlier. That they’d automatically assume something supernatural? No one does that. No one thinks any of it is real. They would assume mutation and move on. Dr. Ziegler would be the only problem and even then would your cells say ‘hey I’m thousands of years old’? Probably not. Unless she carbon dates you for fun.

… Would that...even work?

Point was, if you said something then you would be put on missions. If you were put on missions, that would be a little more time you could spend with Fareeha. Would she appreciate you putting yourself into danger for her? Probably not. Hm. You should just talk to her about it. 

“Hello?” Ana waved her hand in front of you. You blinked, realizing you’d been off in your own world long enough to have walked back to base without realizing it. Did you even pay for your stuff.

“Sorry, I was thinking about Brazil.”

“Brazil?”

“There was this little town on the seaside, it was really quiet and no one really bothered me. There were shells on the beach and if you went early enough you could collect them while no one else was there. But then it rained and it was so cold. I had forgotten how cold coastal rain was and I had to cuddle up to a fireplace for days.” You hadn’t gotten lost in the past in a while. You remembered but stood in the present. That was nice.

Fareeha was waiting for you as you rounded the corner towards your workspace. You grinned, leaving your cart behind and running into her arms. It had been far too long. She smelled of dirt and sweat and there was exhaustion in her eyes, but she was there, with you. In one piece and gloriously alive. Fareeha smiles and you feel relief. She kisses you, squeezing you close. There was hesitation when she released you. 

“Mother.”

“Fareeha. I like your partner. Perhaps a little too dedicated to work. Especially this line of work.” Ana has a frown that you can’t place and Fareeha sighs next to you. 

“You look tired. You should get some rest.” Ana looked at you. “Take care of her?”

You gave Fareeha your best hopeful expression, chuckling when she rolled her eyes and pulled you towards the dorms. 

“You’ve been spending time with my mother?” She asked as soon as you were out of earshot.

“I thought it would make things easier for you if we weren’t at each other’s throats. She doesn’t seem to enjoy spending hours deciding on hardware choices though.” You smile. “She’s nice. We get along.”

“... I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not. I guess it is, I’m just…”

“Not ready to forgive?”

“Yeah.” Fareeha seemed so sad. You pull her through your room doors, kissing all over her face.

“It will be okay.” You murmured, stroking her hair. She leaned against you. Resting. Fareeha pried herself away from you and groaned.

“I need a shower.”

You snorted, fiddling with your phone while you waited for her to come back. She didn’t even have time to lay her head against you before Athena’s voice broke the silence.

“Pharah, please come to the conference room. Thank you.”

“Want me to come with you?” You stood up, linking your arm with hers. She sighed and nodded. Your poor tired Fareeha. Work and stress are weighing on her like stone. It will take a lot of gentle care and kisses to help her escape the pressure. Maybe you should make her some tea and sweets. Fetch some of the soft spare blankets and bury her under them.

“Listen, you need to listen. They’re going to steal the prototypes. I heard them!” A familiar voice shouted from the conference room doors. Your lips curved into a frown and you glanced nervously at Fareeha. Maybe you were wrong.

“Which you heard because you think you are a… vampire.” Winston’s voice. Slowly. Patiently. You felt a sickening twist crawling up your skin. Nooo….

You followed your love into the somewhat dark room. Sitting at the table, surrounded by suspicious looking Overwatch agents, is a familiar lanky man who’s all limbs and no common sense. You can’t stop your lip from curling in distaste. He catches sight of you and stands up, slamming his hands on the table.

“You!”

“Ugh.” Uggghh.

Uuuuggghhhh.


	18. Nothing Says a Reveal like 5 minutes of dead silence and pantomiming

There is a pressure flickering against your mind. Weaker than yours but insistent. Like a tall ass mosquito. You let him in with a growl.

“ _You tell them I’m telling the truth!_ ”

“ _They’d probably believe you if you didn’t bring up the vampire thing, Martin._ ” You crossed your arms and huffed.

“ _Why wouldn’t they believe it?! He’s a talking gorilla._ ” Martin gestured to Winston.

“ _He’s a scientist. He believes in science._ ” You roll your eyes.

“ _This is science! We’re literally just flashy humans. It’s not like we’re werewolves or something._ ” Martin has a point. But also, he can be quiet.

“ _Then why did you say vampire? Why are you always saying vampire?!_ ” You throw your arms open.

“ _It was One Time._ ” Martin flips you off. Mature.

“ _That one time was Bram Stoker it doesn’t count as one time._ ”

“ _You fucked Bathory and you’re talking shit about me fucking Stoker? Again?!_ ” Okay so he had a point but also fuck him.

“ _Yeah and you telling your boyfriend about that was Real Appropriate._ ” 

“ _How many times do I have to say sorry?_ ” He sat down and crossed his arms.

“ _Are you though?!_ ”

“ _You realize we’ve been making faces at each other in complete silence for 5 minutes now and your team is really, really concerned. Right._ ” Martin had a dry look on his face. You flushed and immediately covered your face with your hands.

“ _The robot totally knows what’s going on by the way._ ” Martin pointed over at Zenyatta. “ _He can’t hear us but he can, you know?_ ”

“Um… I’m sorry. What’s going on?” Tracer spoke up, looking between the two of you.

“You people are looking at me like I’m lying but that Artsy Fuck is the same!” Martin spoke aloud, pointing aggressively at you.

“Artsy fuck?” He’s not wrong. But you’re still going to be offended. You two haven’t liked each other since 1202. You aren’t going to start liking him now. You’re ready to be petty. It’s about the dedication at this point.

“You heard me. Wanna read it too, it’s in there.” Martin tapped his head. 

“Conch Shell.” The smile you give is the smuggest expression you’ve ever had. The look he gives you is the dirtiest he’s ever had. He opens his mouth to retort but closes it and pouts like a gigantic toddler. You are this close, thiiissss close. To punching him in the face. With your mind. Secrets be damned it’s time to throw down.

A yellow orb appears above you, and just like that, you’re calm. Your face blanks out like a fish. Martin was right, Zenyatta was like the two of you. Martin seems just a surprised, leaning forward to look at the orb. Neither of you says anything. There’s a lot of blankness and peace before Winston sighs.

“Please tell me what’s going on.” He rubs his forehead.

“I have psychic abilities that I didn’t tell you about because I have social problems.” You say slowly. Fareeha grips your hand and you remember that she’s there, with you. You smile and cast a loving gaze at her. Then your eyes flicker towards Martin and you scowl.

“Like I said. Vampires. Psychics are vampires. Vampires are psychics. No one drinks blood or turns into a bat.” Martin said. That was a lie. There were several creatures that turn into bats. And drink blood. They just aren’t vampires.

“That fucker,” He pointed at you. “Is a rival of mine. But one that can tell you, that I’m telling the truth, and that you need to hurry up and stop Talon before they get that prototype.”

“Why can’t you get it yourself, Dracula.” Soldier 76 snorted.

“First of all, my lover wrote that book so you’re not wrong. Second of all. I’m… weak. This is the best I can do.” Martin reached out and twitched his hand. A coffee cup on the table slid a few inches to the side. He was never great at psychokinesis. Another thing you fought about. And by ‘fought’ you mean ‘you threw him off the side of a mountain and caught him just before he hit the ground’. 

Martin stared at you. Demanding support. Demanding action.

“What prototype?” You conceded. Just this once. His mind pushed into yours, funneling memories of a silver cannister, pulsing noise and crumbling buildings forward. An implosion? Perhaps. You weren’t a scientist and never bothered learning. You could do basic math and that’s it. 

“It’s in Greenland, here.” Martin showed you more memories. “I heard this woman thinking about it, in Oasis.”

“Red hair, two colored eyes?” You asked. There was a sharp intake of breath and dirty looks around the room.

“...So you can read our minds?” Tracer asked you, sounding hurt.

“I haven’t! I would never read your minds without permission. I’ve been closed off.”

“Jackass is telling the truth. I would’ve sensed ‘em and went straight to ‘em rather than talking to you.” Martin supported. You looked at him in surprise and he flipped you off, again.

“Don’t get me wrong, you useless turnip. That should be the problem. You’re sitting on your ass arguing with me instead of preventing tragedy. Just like you always do, you apathetic fuck.” He’s glaring at you and you can feel his hate seething through the room. “What’s it going to take? How many are going to die before you decide hm. Maybe I should do something.”

“That’s not fair, they’ve been doing a lot for us.” Tracer blinked in front of you, hands on her hips. “That’s some way to ask for help.”

You're surprised by how fast Tracer stood up for you. Not, the speed of her movement. Just her decision.

“I could make you help,” Martin grumbled.

“If you touch them I will crush you like a cheap soda can.” You snarl before you realized you said it out loud. Oh well. Too late now. 

“...Wait you’re not lying.” Martin peered around Tracer, eyebrows raised. “What happened to being a lazy pacifist.”

You really couldn’t stop yourself. You threw him across the room. You caught him before he hit the wall, giving him a good shake for emphasis. 

“...Seems like _you're_ not weak then. Why don’t you deal with the prototype, Nosferatu? Since this is your contact.” 76 was looking at you. You narrowed your eyes at him. How many fucking vampire names did he know and why was he so okay with it.

“If Winston would like. Also look at what you’ve done Martin. You had to say it. You just had to.”

“It’s what we call ourselves what did you want me to say.”

“Anything else.”

“This bites.” Hana cackled.

“... Oh my God. That’s not even a thing.”

“Yeah it is, you kinky fuck.”

“Martin shut up.”


	19. Psychic powers aren't a substitute for military training 'Apparently'

“I am not okay with this.” 

Fareeha was glaring between you, Winston, and Asshole McWasn’tInvited. That’s what you’re calling him now. That’s his name. Was another name mentioned? Not as far as you’re aware. No he’s always been referred to as Jerk Fuckoffson. It’s a motif.

“I don’t think you should be in the field.” Fareeha crossed her arms. “It’s dangerous and you have no experience.”

“I can do it, it’s just finding one little-” 

“Have you ever been in a military? Worked for the police? Fought in a war, or any fight at all?” She was getting increasingly tense. Which you could understand. It was frightening, the idea of losing someone you loved to a battle that you weren’t a part of. Especially if the most intense thing your lover had ever been through was getting lost in the desert.

“...No. No I haven’t. I don’t like fighting.” You admit. 

“And now you want to go, into a fight.” Fareeha grumbled.

“Now you know how I feel.” Ana remarked. 

“Ana please. It’s different. It’ll be fine. No one said I was going alone. Martin can come. I’ll use him as a shield.” You were joking Sort of. Martin made an offended huff and turned away from you. Finally, you were free from his face.

The team of ‘Let’s not send the contractor who was too afraid to talk to us for 8 months while an entire base was being rebuilt on a death mission’ was far outweighing team ‘let the vampires go do shit’. Which was, incidentally, just the two vampires. And Soldier 76. Who mostly seemed to think this whole thing was hilarious.

“If you’ve never had any training I think it’s best to send Genji, perhaps with 76 and Zenyatta for back up.” Winston mused. You wilted. You can’t believe people just found out you’re an ancient mythical creature and the first thing they did was shelf you for not having been in a war. You’d fought before. It had just been. Mental. And petty. And about whether or not to have brie alongside some rather nice grapes. You were not… not a tough person. They had their point. But you also had yours.

“Are you pouting, again?” Ana had a hand over her mouth to hide the smile that still showed itself in her eyes. 

“I don’t pout.” You made a face, gazing into the nothingness. 

“Aren’t you too old to be pouting?” Fareeha stepped in, openly grinning. You were pouting now. It was a well-deserved pout. No one deserved to pout at this very moment than you did. 

“How old are you?” Ana asked, her smile slipping as she considered the whole immortal thing. You slowly raised your hands into a shrug.

“I don’t know.”

“Older than me and I’m a few years short of the big 1 4 0 0.” Martin called out.

“I um… you know… tend to space out.”

“... Long enough to not know how old you were.” Ana raised her eyebrows.

“I’m not saying I once just sort of zoned out and spend a few years living in a patch of woods in Virginia because I couldn’t remember where I was supposed to be going but if that did happen I’m not entirely sure how long it could’ve been. There wasn’t cars and then there were cars…” You trailed off. Man that was a surprise. You aren’t sure how you didn’t notice a road being built.

“... Oh Dreamer…” Fareeha murmured softly before bursting into delighted laughter. She leaned over on Ana, wheezing between her laughs. 

“That’s… of course you would…. My sweet Dreamer… Mother I’m dying. How long was my love lost in the woods. Camping dates are out of the question. I will ask for water from a creek and-” Fareeha wiggled her hands like a magician. “Gone.”

“That’s-- alright that has happened. But I haven’t really zoned out since I met you, so I think it’d be fine.” You sighed. Probably. Just because you could stay in the present at base didn’t mean you wouldn’t float off alone in the woods. But at least you could try to pay attention. Maybe just wear a rope around your waist or something. It’s not like you’ve ever actually done that to keep yourself in one concrete area before. Why would you do that? That’s silly. 

Fareeha just laughed more, pausing only to wipe tears out of her eyes. “Oh I need to know more. All of your stories.”

She stepped away from Ana, wrapping her arms around you. Fareeha buried her face in your neck, still giggling softly. “My silly, old Dreamer. Tell me what the dinosaurs were like.”

“Ana will you kill me if I break up with your daughter for making a dinosaur joke?”

“Yes, I would. Although I will change the topic for you. What were the mammoths like?”

You sighed. This is suffering. This is pain. You would rather be chased by hounds.

“Wait, I gotta question.” McCree stood up, giving the room a wave to get everyone’s attention. “If you’re saying vampires are real. And they’re just psychics. Then what about everything else?”

“Oh, everything else is also real, and mostly true to tale.” Martin shrugged.

“Like, Everythin’.”

You nodded. “Everything.”

“Mermaids.”

“Yeah.”

“Werewolves.”

“Yeah, Agent Mc-.” 

“Witches.”

“Agent McCree everything is real and most things are exactly what you think they are and before you say that’s cool please keep in mind that you’re at this girl’s house and everything is great and then her mother gets home and decides to summon her familiar, which is a fucking manticore, which wants to eat you, and that’s why you stop going to Austria.” You snap.

“... Is that what happened with Livia?” Martin asked, mockingly putting a hand to his cheek. You threw him out of his chair.

“...Why do so many parents react to you with violence?” Ana asked, playfulness mixed with suspicion.

“Ana imagine that you are a wealthy noble and you intend to marry your children to other wealthy nobles and in comes a vampire poet who doesn’t seem to have a family name and also hangs out with another noble who you hate.” You sigh.

“Pft. a poet. Roses are red, violets are blue, Slept with a Queen, I don’t have to finish this poem I’m sleeping with the Queen.” Martin smiled. You gave him your driest stare. Maybe you should start killing people. He can be the first one. Fuck this guy.

"How about roses are red, violets are blue, get the fuck out before I kill you."

"You wouldn't kill anyone."

"Get out."


	20. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's sex in there, heads up.

“So… Question. Why do y’all call yourselves vampires if ya don’t drink blood.”

You sighed, slowly looking up from the incense burner you were unpacking. McCree was lounging in the doorway, again. Asking questions, again. You understood why. If anything it was weirder that the rest of Overwatch wasn’t asking you questions too. You were older than the base you were all sitting in. But that was ? ok? Apparently.

“Are you going to help me set up the meditation room, Agent McCree?” You asked softly, carefully setting the burner on its table and searching for the outlet.

“‘Course I can. Sorry if the questions bother ya, just tryin’ to get my head around the whole thing.” McCree took a nail and a hammer, working on hanging a painting.

“It’s alright, you’re not the first to ask. Probably won’t be the last. Humans are the ones that started the whole blood thing. We technically can drain energy from things. Younger, weaker ones can only draw from a single source. Historically, when vampires were just popping up in the gene pool, they usually killed their victims. There was little understanding. Older, stronger vampires can siphon small amounts of energy from multiple people at once. It’s unnoticeable, save for other vampires and perhaps beings like Zenyatta.” You assume that Zenyatta would notice right away if a vampire was pulling energy off of him. Though you hope no one ever tries. You don’t think omnics carried energy the same way humans did. 

“Hm. Ever kill a man?” McCree hung the painting, grabbing another nail and heading to the next.

“No. At least, not that I’m aware of. My earliest memories were of being alone.” You stop moving, your memories starting to sweep forward. They take over and you forget that you’re in the present and fall into the past with force.

“Snow, forever. There is snow and nothing else is there. The ice eats and eats and showed the way to draw the heat. Heat beneath the ice beneath the water in the depths writhing and twisting. Large and small. Crawling, walking, running, over the ice and snow and a rock is a new sight a marvel. It’s strange, cold and empty, and then the rock becomes trees, their heat hollow. Trees with deer, with birds, with owls. Then noise, noise that came with heat, precious sounds so different, so very different. Mirrored ice but moving and warm and fur over shoulders and-”

“Dreamer, my Dreamer, wake up.”

“And sheep and tents and hand in hand, hands hold tools and knives and the heat beneath the ice are fish that are so easy to find because they can be pulled with my hands but it’s not my hands and-”

“Dreamer!” You are shaken, and slowly the vision of staring into a hole carved in the ice, pulling up fish with your telekinesis drifts away. Fareeha is crouched in front of you with eyes wide with fear. McCree is lingering behind her. His lips are set into a line. Eyes full of sadness. Was he sad for you? You were alright. You were here. You were present. Present was now.

“Fareeha.” You whisper. Just to remind yourself where you were. Who you were with. She embraced you, pulling you into her arms, and you practically melted into her. She was so warm. Why were you cold again? You weren’t. But she was still so warm and you needed to be warm. Needed to be held. Needed her whispering in your ear about where you were, when you were, and how much she loved you. Cementing you to the now. You buried your face in the crook of her neck. You were safe.

“Are you alright?” Fareeha seemed reluctant to let go, immediately taking your face in her hands. She nervously stroked your face with her thumbs. You nodded, lifting your hands to cover hers.

“Yeah… I’m sorry, I forgot how it felt to, go too far back.” You murmured. Your memories could be a prison if you let them. It’s how you lost track of the world progressing. You fell backward and tumbled until something shook you back out. You were glad that this time you were sitting in a room. And that you had Fareeha to help you.

“It’s my fault, I’m sorry. You alright there?” McCree asked softly. You could sense his tension. At some point you had unfurled, relaxed. You knew where all of the agents were, how they were feeling. Not deep enough to read their thoughts but the emotions were there. You went to pull back in but fear stopped you. You didn’t want to be alone. You wanted to remember that you had friends. That they were okay and alive. You cuddled up to Fareeha.

“It’s not your fault, you didn’t know that I do that. You got Fareeha?” You asked.

“Yes, he did. Thank you McCree.” Fareeha picked you up, kissing your face again. She carried you out of the meditation room, to the little dorm she shared when you were there. She curled next to you on the bed with lips still brushing against your skin.

“You worried me, little Dreamer.” Another soft kiss. Another anchor. You were here, with her. Now.

“I’m sorry. Thank you. I, I’m open right now. I can feel everyone’s emotions. Like, like feeling an ice cube on your arm when you aren’t looking.” You sigh. “It helps. Reminds me that you’re all still here.”

“... Do you miss a lot of people?” Fareeha asks, wrapping her arms around you.

“Yes. Friends. Lovers. Hell. Even enemies. I don’t regret being alive for so long. I love the way the world has changed, for better or for worse. I just wish I could have brought them with me.” You start kissing her face back. She’s so soft. So strong. You are so lucky.

“Who was your favorite lover?” She smiled into your kisses, letting out the occasional quite laugh.

“You.”

“Are you flattering me, Dreamer?” Fareeha’s eyebrows lifted and she chuckled.

“No, not at all. You are my favorite. You’re brave, and clever, and not a serial killer. You have no idea how big Not a Serial Killer is.” You frown for just a second before grinning. “You are so lovely too. Your eyes are so breath-taking. Your hair so silky. Your skin so soft.”

You stroke her face, trailing your fingertips along her arm. “You are so precious. So wonderful. You keep me present. Remind me that I’m alive and not in a fog. My lovely beacon.”

“You have a way with words.” She muttered, her expression soft and full of gentle love.

“I’ve spent a lot of time with poets.” You chuckled. 

“Seduce me.”

At first you’re taken aback, not quite expecting that. But she has a small smile on her face and her eyelids are half closed and you feel so… in love. She is so wondrous. You feel the smirk coming without meaning to, and close the space between you.

“Haven’t I already? You are in my bed-” You kiss her. “Unarmed and out of uniform-” You kiss down her jaw. “With such a pretty expression on your face-”

You kiss her neck, grinning at her soft intake of break. “Getting ideas, my love?”

Fareeha made such quiet noises as you kissed down her chest, fingers slipping under her shirt and tracing patterns along her muscles. You drew your power in, focused on her. She was so silken. So lovely. You slipped your telekinesis to brush where your hands weren’t, gently massaging her back and shoulders. 

“There’s never been a Queen as wonderful as you.” You murmured, kissing her again. Fareeha wriggled out of your grip, pulling off her shirt.

“Shhh, my Dreamer. Less talking, more taking off your clothes.”

“Why do people always tell me that.”

Fareeha laughed, her chuckles dying in her throat when she catches sight of you pulling off your clothes, throwing them off the bed. She reached out and pulled you back towards her. You laugh when you awkwardly hit your head on her shoulder, kissing it and shifting to kiss her face. Your hands roamed, across her back, her hips, gently guiding her onto her back so you could kiss down her collarbone. You kissed her breasts, switching between each, alternating between brushes of telekinesis and your lips and tongue, flicking against her stiffening nipples. 

You could spend hours on each part of her body. Drawing out sex for as long as possible before food or water was needed. And even then, that could just be a short break. But Fareeha began to squirm, her hands slipping from your hair down her sides. You grinned, kissing down her stomach, holding her hips while you began to lick.

Fareeha made the most lovely noises. Long, soft moans. Short, throaty, breathless groans. Small soft sighs. Indignant sharp noises when you stopped just before she came. You giggled, laughing harder when she squeezed her thighs around you. You obliged, returning your tongue to its work, reaching up with your power to caress her body again in slow, gentle waves. Her lovely noises got even better when she was orgasming, her body arched off the sheets. 

Her face was so flushed. You kissed her cheeks, wiping the hair away from her face. She took a deep breath and smiled.

“We’re not done here.” She motioned with her hand and you rolled onto your back. Fareeha mimicked your actions, her lips leaving a trail of kisses from your lips, down your torso, and sliding with a wink between your legs. You moaned freely, knowing for certain no one was close enough to hear the two of you. You were so tempted to squirm. She made you want to. So bad. You satisfied yourself by sliding your power against her again, slipping between her legs and making her moan against you.  
“It’s your turn.” Fareeha gasped. 

“Your song is part of the experience.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” She snorted. “I should leave you now. I won’t. But I should.”

You laughed, your voice shorting out into another soft cry as Fareeha doubled her efforts. She left you panting, swimming in waves of pulsing pleasure, peaking as she came a second time. Her groan against you sent you over the edge. You pulled her up towards you, wrapping your arms around her as she took long, deep breaths.

“Best sex I’ve ever had.” You murmured into her ear.

“Liar.”

“I don’t lie. Not to you.” The two of you drifted to sleep, tangled together. You didn’t dream of the past, only of Fareeha, and warmth.


	21. A Request

“I’ll need some industrial lighting for this area. Maybe something the engineers could adjust? Both? I’ll have to ask Torbjorn…” You muttered to yourself. 

The base was 25% functioning. It seemed like a small number but it was huge. All major necessities were functioning and smaller, extracurricular rooms were available. It wasn’t perfect, it still needed a lot of work, but for the small team that made up the current Overwatch it worked. Those who had homes that functioned as their own base of operations could still visit the main base to use the training facilities or simply build a camaraderie with the other agents. Those who didn’t have homes had one now. It was good.

You were now taking your time in observing the damage to the remaining 75% of the base. You were in the Workshop wing, where the engineers were supposed to work, taking note of severe water damage in one of the empty abandoned spaces. You would probably need to replace the piping in this area. The wiring didn’t look that great either. You scribbled the notes on your tablet and moved on to the next space. Each one you dedicated as much time as you could to checking over every inch. You had the time to get it right so there was no excuse to speed through it. It was more efficient to be aware of everything you needed to do rather than find surprises when you were starting the heavy work.

As you were finishing up you felt Zenyatta’s now familiar presence enter your very small unfurled zone. You didn’t want to really release your hold and spread out. Not, quite yet. But you also liked feeling when someone was close, and Fareeha liked it when you could feel her emotions. Not that she was hard to read. But she liked that you knew regardless. You liked knowing when Reinhardt was sneaking up on you. How did a man that large manage to sneak so well. Never again.

You pressed your mind against his, trying to draw out the sense of him pushing back. Vampires were a mystery. None of you were very interested in being studied and none of you were interested in doing the studying so it left a gap. Oh, things were known for sure. There was just. More questions. None of you were entirely sure why a human would be born with abilities like yours, and why it was so, rare. And so long. Zenyatta had similar abilities but he was an omnic. What was similar between him, and you? 

So far, you had no answer. He wasn’t exactly like you. But perhaps it was because he was young. Perhaps, in time, he would be just like you. Like any of you. You didn’t remember what it was like in the beginning. You didn’t care to try. It left you without knowledge of experience to compare, but Zenyatta was kind and understanding. He humored you with your gentle pushing and pushed back.

It was so different. But so similar. 

You felt a pull, a slight feel of fingers at the edge of your senses. Zenyatta was calling to you. You sent a push back, gentle and soft against that strange sense of him. A confirmation that lead you out of the engineering wing and back into the bulk of the base. It wasn’t long before you found Zenyatta. He was floating down the hallway with Genji at his side.

“Zenyatta, you called?” You asked, tilting your head at the pair of them. 

“There you are. I have been meaning to ask a favor of you.” Genji strode up to you, a small wisp of nervousness pulsing from him. This was something that bothered him. It was layered with uncertainty and the crustiness of old pain. You didn’t ask after the pain, didn’t look into it yourself. You and Genji barely knew one another. Aside from his rescuing you from a burning building, there was little contact between the two of you. The healing pain was none of your business.

“I ...I wanted to bring my brother here, to Overwatch. I was able to find him once but I haven’t found him again. I was hoping, with your abilities, perhaps you could help?” There was hope too. Hope that sat on top of the old pain like a salve. You wouldn’t have said no before, but feeling his emotions, hearing them. You couldn’t say no. Still…

“I’ll try. I’m not, clairvoyant. I can’t see outside myself. That’s the realm of witches and oracles. But, if I can sense him I can find him.” You paused, thoughtful. Hunting individuals was difficult. In most cases, it meant leaping from mind to mind comparing the images of what they were seeing. Waiting until you found a mind that had seen your target. Tedious work. It was better if you had met them before. Everyone had their own, sense. Like, a smell only it was. Their mind. Every mind was a little different. But you hadn’t met Genji’s brother only…

Genji had something different to him. A glow. A power. Almost like a witch but not quite. If his brother was like him then it might not be so difficult. You could follow the power if you couldn't find the face. 

“Do you know what country he was last in? I’ll have to go there to look.” You asked.

“I believe he’s still based in Japan. I’ll come with you, we can look together.” Genji’s concern was gone. Replaced with hope and a bit of excitement. 

“I’ll give my rough project plan to Winston and tell him what we’re up to.” You would still have to outline the other damaged areas of the base, but it could wait. Most of the work now was prep work and upkeep. It would be a long, long time until this base saw the same kind of use that it used to. And by the time that happened, there would hopefully be more capable of caring for it. A little team of your own. A cook, a few repair folk, a gardener. There wasn’t a lot of space on the watchpoint where a garden can be grown but a little green would be beneficial.

“I’ll come with you.” Genji offered. He didn’t wait for you to answer. The excitement was buzzing strong enough to cover up the rest of his emotions. Zenyatta chuckled, and you knew for certain he sensed it too. Someday you would understand. Until then you were content with getting to know both him and his student. Perhaps this would help.

You would need to ask Winston for time off after this as well. Hunting like this would cost energy and you would have to spend some time in clubs to gain it back. Or just wandering around a city you supposed. Going to a club specifically seemed a bit, excessive. Fun though. Maybe Fareeha would meet you? But you didn’t want to accidentally drain from her. Perhaps you could have her join you afterward? Maybe take her to a resort or a spa or something. Didn’t even have to be in that country. 

You could just visit her at her home.

Fareeha did want you to visit. Maybe you could spend a few weeks with her. Bring her some gifts. What would she like? Some plants? You naked with some lace, party streamers, and confetti? Perhaps you didn’t need to bring a gift at all. You wanted to though. You wanted to shower her with everything that she deserved. Wealth, jewelry, every luxury the world had to offer. Just show up to her house and fill it with gold leaf covered rose petals. Candied gold leaf covered rose petals. 

You just loved her so much.

“Oh hello you three. Did you need something?” Winston looked up from his work on the dome shields he carries on missions. You smiled.

“Here’s what I have so far on the repair schedule. Genji and I need some time to go, recruiting. I’d like a month, I will try to complete or task quickly but I will need to. Um. Eat. Not blood, again. I don’t. Eat people. I just.” You sighed. Talking about it made you feel weird. Everything made you feel weird, really. 

“Can we go?”

“Hm… I may need to call you back if something comes up but… sure. Be careful. Especially with the uh. Eating.” Winston also thought it was weird. Great. Just great.

“Thank you.” You sighed. “Whenever you’re ready then, Genji.”

“Don’t you need to pack?” He tilted his head at you, confused.

“Rich and old. So no. Also lazy.”

“You can lift things with your mind.” 

“So, so lazy Genji.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally made several key scenes impossible or useless when writing so I had to, course correct. This should... work now... I hope.


	22. The Hunt

Letting your power unfurl to its natural state is still a blissful thing. The sensation of so many is both overwhelming and calming in a way that dazzles you. There are so many people. You can remember when this many in one place was a distant fever dream or something’s nasty illusion. When a handful was considered a crowd and a couple hundred was a terrifying army. Now it was just, people. Living their lives. A new time, a new culture. It was fascinating. 

The hunt for Genji’s brother kept your attention. You knew a handful of things. Their relationship was non-existent. That Genji was concerned for his brother. That Genji was concerned for himself. He wasn’t certain this was the right path to take. But he so desperately wanted to reforge that connection that he was willing to take the risk. You didn’t say anything but he didn’t need to be so concerned. You were there to help him, even if that meant shielding him from harm. Just because you couldn’t fight, or fight well, didn’t mean you couldn’t put up a telekinetic barrier. In fact, that was the best you could do.

Not that he asked you for protection. He asked you to hunt.

You had information from Genji. What his brother’s name was, Hanzo. What he looked like, black hair, brown eyes. Some personality quirks. Serious. Angry. Probably depressed. Searching on that alone would take a while. You were looking for the glow. Genji had a particular glowing sense to him. You had never asked what it was, and it wasn’t quite your business, but it was an excellent beacon. 

So far you’d mostly sensed non-human things skittering at the sense of your mind sweeping in waves through them. You made sure not to pull anything from them. There were some that likely wouldn’t argue, you were old and your strength was hinted at with each searching touch. But there were some that would take up a fight regardless. You could feel them bristle under your mind. A sense of invaded privacy and territorial rage.

Nothing so far of a glowing man. 

It frustrated you. Though you knew you were being too hard on yourself, it was aggravating that you couldn’t find a single human. He glowed. Genji was a beacon in the night. Even when you weren’t trying you could see him, bright and noticeable. You sighed and traced your mind along the crowds. You didn’t quite drain them just felt them. Learned from them.

“I’m being impatient.” You grumbled, turning towards Zenyatta. The omnic didn’t have to come with you, but he was there. Mostly for Genji’s sake but you also benefited from his calm.

“Yes, but not without reason. You will find him. You’re larger than I thought you were.” Zenyatta replied, the calming yellow light taking the edge off the hunt.

“You’ll be the same someday.”

“Will I?” Zenyatta sounded amused.

You nodded. “We are the same. But not. Close enough. With enough time and effort we could mimic each other’s abilities, I believe. It’s interesting. If it’s not genetics that creates creatures like us, then what is it? The world is a mysterious place. Almost enough to make me wish I took more interest in the sciences. But art is more fun.”

“Who says we cannot find our answers in art?” He replied.

“Exactly!” You laughed. You would greatly prefer to see your mysteries solved in brush strokes and sonnets than in beakers and tubes. Oh, it was clear that science could answer many of your questions, and for someone like you, it wouldn’t be much trouble to slowly study your way towards mastery but. Art was more fun. You were curious. But you aren’t that curious. You would rather learn a new dance or a new language. Maybe you should let Dr. Ziegler take a look. She was trustworthy. 

You concentrated on Genji for a moment, seeking that bright blue light…. Wait. There. Blue. Genji was green. The blue light was traveling, slowly. On foot. You reached, finding a man. He was solemn, thinking of whether or not to pick up a cake on his way home. You reached deeper. He was weary from finishing a job. Recently home. Who though. Blue. So blue. Distracting. You frowned and tightened your focus on this man. He was an assassin recently done with a job. He was tired but thinking about rewarding himself for a job well done. There was anger and pain right below the surface. Hope threaded through it. A slow sense of release towards peace. Careful. Who was he? You needed a name.

There. Hanzo. His name was Hanzo. You found him.

A heavy force jostled you, dragging you forward. Genji held you back as your body tried to keep walking. You must have started moving towards your goal without realizing it. Which left you walking right into traffic. You blinked a few times and looked at Genji with a little confusion. Genji was your friend, he was a cyborg, he asked you for help. Stay in the present. Stay in the now.

“I found him. This way. He’s, at a bakery?” You tilted your head. You could hear him. He was contemplating a strawberry cake versus one with a more simple cake flecked with vanilla bean. An understandably difficult decision. It depended on how fresh the strawberries were, in your opinion.

“Take us. But don’t walk into traffic again, please.” Genji was tense. Anxious and excited. You couldn’t read much more. Most of your mind was focused on the glowing blue man. The cake barely distracted him for a few blocks of fast walking. He was moving again. He chose the vanilla bean cake. Apparently, it had a filling that he loved. You wondered if he could point out the bakery he got it at when you found him. Probably wouldn’t be willing to. Especially not when you were actively reading his mind from across town. That was a bit of a friendship ruiner.

You did keep wandering into traffic. Walking was put on autopilot and autopilot wanted you to take the path of least resistance. Which really lead to more resistance as Genji kept redirecting you towards sidewalks. 

Hanzo stopped at a door. An apartment building? Yes. There was a man at a desk who greeted him. Hanzo nodded a greeting and went upstairs. They were familiar with one another. He had been staying there for some time. It would be difficult getting in, if you didn’t have the talents that you did. Hanzo was getting into an elevator. He was close. Closer than he was. You were just a few streets down and could sense his glow with less effort than before. It was easier. You picked up the pace.

He lived in an apartment building with a rather persnickety feeling banshee. She did not want you there and the feeling was fairly mutual. You didn’t want to be there. But you had to guide Genji to Hanzo. Had to help him reforge that connection.

“Excuse me, are you visitors? Can I know what resident you’re here for.” The doorman stood up, eyes flicking towards a security guard. You smiled and stopped listening in on Hanzo. You knew where he was, and needed the power.

“We’re new residents. You know this. You’re supposed to guide us to our new apartment, on the same floor as Hanzo Shimada.” You pushed your power into him. The doorman blinked in confusion for a second before nodding.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I forgot. Please, let me lead the way.” The doorman stood up, taking you to the elevator. His key unlocked the doors and he pressed the floor button. This place was secure, comfortable. You listened. The banshee was muttering obscenities about old beings walking around where they weren’t welcome. There was a couple trying to decide what color to paint their walls. Neither could decide. There was an older woman scolding her cat for trying to go onto the balcony. It wasn’t safe, even for a cat. Hanzo was alone. He was carefully cleaning and putting away his equipment. Unpacking from his job. He felt watched. His dragons knew something wasn’t quite right. 

You placed a hand on the doorman’s shoulder when he tried to take you down the hall. “That’s far enough. You will not remember seeing us. Today is a blur. You went to take a break but pressed the wrong button. Return to your desk.”

The doorman nodded, slinking back to the elevator and taking it down.

“You think I will do that one day?” Zenyatta asked. If he could raise an eyebrow he would.

“You could, not saying you would.” You shrugged. “He’s in the last door on the right.” 

There were only four doors in the hallway. These apartments were spacious and comfortable. Quiet. There wasn’t much for entertainment or nightlife in the area. It was a place for quiet people to live their quiet lives. A place for assassins and banshees and all sorts of other, very uninteresting people.

You pointed at the door. “Here.”

Genji took a deep breath as you and Zenyatta took your places behind him. He knocked, then stepped back, and waited. The air was thick and tense. Genji’s anxiety pulsed from him, twisting into the carpeted floors. Zenyatta reached a hand to rest on his shoulder, his peace attempting to smother Genji’s nerves. 

Hanzo opened the door and immediately attempted to close it. You sighed and held it open with your mind. You wouldn’t force him to stay in the doorway but he was going to have to leave it open. The inability to close it was both confusing and frustrating. He was quick to anger, his wrath only stopped by the obvious lack of anyone’s limbs in the doorway. He didn’t understand how it was being held open. But he felt something strange and it only served to agitate him more. 

“Hello, Hanzo. I came to speak with you.” Genji said with surprising strength. He had a much better hold on his anxiety. Hanzo was on the verge of panic.

“I do not wish to speak to you.” Hanzo growled. 

“I can tell.” Genji snarked. It took Hanzo by enough surprise to leave a window for Genji.

“Listen. We are trying to help people. Trying to protect people from terror, and pain, and suffering. There’s a lot of things that we can prevent. I want you to come with us. I want you to join Overwatch.” Genji said quickly, his nervousness revealing itself the longer he talked. You reached out with your mind, wrapping your power around Genji, trying to comfort him.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment. Hanzo wasn’t sure if he was being messed with or if Genji was being sincere. He also didn’t know which he would prefer. He certainly wanted to close the door and pretend all of this didn’t happen. That was unfortunate. Genji wanted Hanzo to say yes. 

“Come, we must let them work this out on their own.” Zenyatta took your shoulder in his hand and pulled. The two of you quietly slid out of the hallway, leaving the brothers to talk amongst themselves. You carefully pulled your power into yourself. There wasn’t too much left.

“Think they’ll be okay?” You asked as you stepped into the elevator.

“Perhaps. Either way, we will be close.” Zenyatta hummed. You were tempted to reach back up and listen but. They had to work this out themselves. It was important to both of them, even if neither admitted it.

A woman came out of the elevator, tossing a real nasty look your way. Oh, you forgot about the angry banshee. She huffed and stormed out the door, tossing you a very friendly middle finger as she stomped away. Pointing unwanted security attention towards you and Zenyatta. Which was appreciated. 

“Hm. She seemed angry at our presence.”

“Yeeaaaaah we should probably gooooo before she gets baaaack. She’s going to scream and it’s going to make my head spin and I’m going to wake up two weeks from now in Paris.”

“Paris?”

“Now that I think about it I might just have gotten lost in memories and wandered to Paris by pure coincidence.”

Zenyatta stared passively at you, amusement humming in his core.

"What? Maybe this time I'll go on purpose."


	23. Question

How would you feel if I rewrote this fic?

I'm happy with the beginning but it could use some improvement. The last like, 4 chapters though. I'm really not happy with them. It's my own fault because I accidentally threw my entire plot off the rails at like, chapter 15. 

I could salvage what there is here, I know there are still some readers who enjoy it, but would a rewrite be okay?


End file.
